


Love's Just a Feeling

by fadefilter, Mystrana



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bottom!Bucky, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Pining, explicit content, punk band!au, top!steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-18 12:15:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19334353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadefilter/pseuds/fadefilter, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mystrana/pseuds/Mystrana
Summary: Not Without Youis on tour, and the lucky fans at their sold out shows are always treated to the best show: great music and excellent entertainment, courtesy of Steve and Bucky, who can't seem to keep their hands off of each other—both onstage and off.The tour's almost over, but Steve's got a bit of a problem. Despite constantly reassuring the rest of the band that neither of them will develop feelings......he's pretty sure he's developed some feelings.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please enjoy my humble contribution to the [2019 Captain America RBB](https://twitter.com/caprbb)!! I could never thank the mods enough for their time and dedication to this event. They are literally the best.
> 
> One million thank yous to [Fadefilter,](https://twitter.com/fadefilter) who inspired this story with amazing artwork and a prompt that really grabbed my attention. It was so fun to brainstorm together and come up with this! I couldn't have had a better experience. Her artwork is embedded in the fic, and on [tumblr!](https://fadefilter.tumblr.com/post/185831368478/art-for-loves-just-a-feeling-a-collaboration)
> 
> And as always, [Agentcoop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentCoop/pseuds/AgentCoop/works), thank you for the beta work as well as listening to me complain roughly ten million times about writing while pregnant and cheering me on through writing with a newborn.

# 

# 1

 

Every light on stage went dark, but the crowd kept whistling and cheering. Their electric applause wound its way around Steve’s skin, his favorite kind of high. Guitar in hand, he was ready to run back on stage and bask in their warm adoration.

Bucky brushed past him to sneak back on stage in the darkness, and Steve grinned in his direction, clicking his tongue ring against his teeth. Bucky’s fingers lingered on the curve of Steve’s back and the little bit of light backstage was just enough to catch the wink Bucky threw his way. Steve’s smile turned feral with promise.

When the stage lights went back up with Bucky standing in the middle of the stage, the crowd collectively lost their minds with a ruckus surely loud enough to leak past the stage doors into the night. Whatever notes Bucky strummed on his bass as he sauntered to the front of the stage disappeared into the noise.

Steve would be lying if he didn’t admit how much he’d enjoy being with the audience, watching Bucky stride across the stage. Then again, watching him from backstage was great, too. Steve checked his guitar strap, fingered his opening notes, and clapped Clint on the shoulder as he made his way back to the drum set on stage.

Clint’s especially dedicated fangroup screamed their approval when he twirled drumsticks in the air and brought them down on the cymbals, driving their encore forward with a steady rhythm. A beat behind him, Scott was at his keyboard, opening up the melody.

Which left only Steve backstage. He hefted his guitar in the air and pumped his fist as he joined the rest of his bandmates and the crowd cheered, impossibly louder. The electricity ran down Steve’s arms, settled into his chest. He’d never feel more alive than on the stage.

Bucky raised his eyebrow at Steve, and Steve stuck out his tongue. His tongue ring flashed purple in the light, before Bucky beckoned Steve over with a gesture. Bucky slid his hands back around his bass and leaned into the microphone just in time to sing the chorus.

Steve wanted those talented hands wrapped around something else and that gorgeous mouth on his. He made his way across the stage, hips swaying as played the accompaniment to Scott’s keyboard. His grin matched Bucky’s.

When Steve ran his tongue along his bottom lip, he didn’t miss the way that every interested person in the room just about fainted. He smirked as he crowded into Bucky’s space, giving him just enough room to play his bass. Without missing a note, Steve leaned right in at the pause between Bucky’s lines, and licked along the warm skin of his jawline.

Bucky tilted his head back, giving Steve more access. Below them, the audience screamed their excitement. Steve’s tongue ring glinted green as he ran his tongue down Bucky’s throat, stopping to suck at his pulse point for a delicious second before pulling back and giving Bucky space to sing.

Tossing his hair back, Bucky belted the next line into his microphone. His voice rumbled deep, igniting Steve’s anticipation. He dropped the bass line to grab Steve’s arm and bring him closer again, running a hand down Steve’s sweat-soaked t shirt. The guitar came between them, preventing Bucky from reaching Steve’s silver belt buckle.

Fucking instruments, always getting in their way. Steve lifted his guitar up higher to let Bucky do what he wanted lower. Bucky fingered the belt buckle, but stopped short of palming Steve’s cock through his jeans. Half the crowd was chanting, “go for it!”, but Steve and Bucky exchanged grins before Steve broke away from Bucky. Amidst the groan of their fans, Steve strutted over to the other side of the stage to flirt with fans.

Behind them, Clint and Scott were probably exchanging exasperated sighs as they played through the chorus. Steve knew half of the audience probably had bets going on which show Bucky and him were going to throw pretense aside and just get each other off on stage.

Steve blew a kiss to the crowd as the song finished, and sweat soaked through his t-shirt. Encores were the _best._ He whipped off his guitar and set it in its stand so he could head back over to Bucky.

“Thank you, Chicago!” Bucky shouted, prompting another round of cheers. His shirt was just as wet as Steve’s. It was hot as hell on the stage, and Steve considered pulling off his shirt. “You guys have been fucking awesome!”

Steve draped himself over Bucky’s shoulders to add in the mic, “Yeah! Fucking awesome!”

He dipped his head to suck on Bucky’s neck, vigorous enough to leave a mark, and the crowd lost their shit as the stage lights went down, their energy reverberating through Steve’s bones.

 

*

 

Backstage, Bucky grabbed a water bottle and tossed it to Steve, who chugged it down and grinned his thanks. They pointedly ignored Clint, who was across the small green room eating a slice of pizza and trying to glare in Bucky’s direction.

“Look,” Clint said, his piece of pizza half gone in three bites. “If you start jerking each other off during the set, you guys are going to get us kicked off stages!”

Bucky shrugged as Steve came over, wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and dragged the tip of his tongue piercing along Bucky’s jawline. He gave him a kiss on the cheek while Bucky kept his even gaze on Clint.

 

 

“Ridiculous,” Clint said, reaching for another piece of pizza. “All I’m saying is maybe keep it under a NC-17 rating so we still get booked on something other than a porno set.”

“Have you seen what they can get away with on cable TV these days?” Steve said. “I think we’re safe until there’s a visible cock. Plus, I didn’t hear a single complaint from the audience.”

“Yeah, you know our fans are totally on board. It’s been great marketing for the tour if we’re being honest.” Bucky reached out to run his fingers along the shell of Steve’s ear, tracing each piercing. He grinned at Clint. “We could put it on our posters: come watch ‘Not Without You,’ the band not allowed on stage in fifteen states. Maybe your state’ll ban them next!”

Clint looked like he considered putting his head in his hands, but he was still holding his slice of pizza, so he settled for taking a wary bite. “C’mon, Scott. Back me up here,” he said, his words mangled by pepperoni.

Scott hummed thoughtfully from the other couch in the room. “You guys all bring up some excellent points.”

“Excellent points,” Clint repeated, closing his eyes. “I thought you were on my side, dude.”

“I mean, I agree. I don’t want us getting kicked out of a venue but at the same time, when people book us, I think they kind of know what they’re getting.” Scott shrugged. “And honestly, can you think about the publicity we’d get if they’re arrested for being too handsy on stage or something? I’m pretty sure Bucky’s right. We could totally spin it in our favor.”

Clint groaned, and mumbled something that sounded like, “when did I become the most responsible person here?”

“Look, no one is getting hurt, right?” Steve undraped himself from around Bucky and ticked off the reasons on his fingers. “The fans get a kick out of it, it gives us some good word of mouth publicity, and I get to enjoy Bucky’s excellent body.” The cool backstage air drifted between them and Steve pressed back up against Bucky, the two of them a sweaty mess of shirts and skin.

“Do you have to be so reasonable about it?” Clint sighed. “You’re right. And Bucky does have a slamming body. If I’m allowed to say that in front of Steve.”

Bucky beamed and tossed a wink in Clint’s direction. “We’re friends with benefits, not dating. If you want a little action, all you’ve gotta do is ask.”

Steve must have eaten his pizza too fast, because a sudden stone seemed to settle in his stomach. He furrowed his brow and drank some more water.

“Our fans would probably have a field day with those pictures,” Scott mused, seemingly to himself.

Clint groaned. “Ok. Not to be super rude, but I just don’t get it. If I were all over someone like you guys are with each other, I’d be a little bit upset if they were just like… hitting on someone else in front of me?”

Steve shrugged. He trotted out his well-practiced answer: “This is easier than dating right now. Neither of us have time for actual dates. We know each other. We know what we like and we know that we’re both shit at dating, so—here we are. Enjoying friendship, enjoying each other’s bodies now and again.”

“Practically always, but who’s counting?” Bucky laughed.

A knock at the door interrupted the conversation. Their manager, Sharon Carter, poked her head in. “Glad to see you guys got a chance to eat. We’ve got the fans ready for your meet and greet, so let’s get going.”

Clint shoved the last bite of pizza in his mouth and wiped his hands on a napkin—he might have been raised in a carnival, as he liked to remind them, but by gosh, he had the occasional streak of good manners. The others weren’t far behind. Sharon led them out and down the long hallway, back to the stage, where several lucky fans were waiting for their chance to say hi and get some autographs.

She made sure to arrange the group with Bucky and Steve together at the front and Scott between Clint and Steve. Then she brought them on stage and they were met with a wall of cheers and screaming. A long card table had been set up with four chairs and they sat down appropriately.

“Alright, alright,” Sharon said, smiling brightly. “As promised, here is Not Without You!” She paused for another round of applause. It was honestly impressive how much noise twenty dedicated fans could make. “Let’s make the most of our time here and get started. Remember, if you’ve got a CD or picture from the show, they’ll sign it.”

“Oh my god, I’m such a fan,” said the first person in line, a young woman with their band shirt ripped at the bottom and tied up around her stomach. “I can’t believe you are like, just sitting here in front of me. What’s it like dating Steve?”

Bucky smiled, a practiced motion that would’ve fooled almost anyone in its ease. “Shh, don’t tell anyone, but we’re not actually dating.” His voice was an exaggerated whisper. “He’s just my best friend who happens to know what I like in bed.”

She gasped and giggled while Bucky scrawled a message on her CD. “I think he’s missing out! Oh my gosh!”

“Nah.” Steve grabbed the CD as Bucky slid it over and signed his name. His stomach was hurting again for some weird reason, but he still had his practiced response. “We’ve got the best of both worlds. Our personal space when we want it and…” He grinned over at Bucky. “The lack thereof when we don’t.”

That weird weight in his stomach disappeared when Bucky smiled back at him.

Clint’s mumbled “oh my GOD,” was still audible over whatever Scott was saying.

It didn’t take them too long to work through the line of fans, chatting and signing as they went.

“Look,” Clint said as they walked down the hallway to gather their instruments and equipment. “I probably make it a bigger deal than it is, but what it comes down to is that you guys aren’t just my bandmates. You’re my friends. And I’ve never known two friends who’ve managed to keep feelings out of this sort of arrangement, ok?”

Steve nodded, furrowed his brow. “But you know us. Do you really think that we can’t do it?”

Bucky grinned as they wound their way out of the venue. “That’s me and Steve, always looking to beat the odds.”

A few more fans were waiting around by the van, hoping for a last look at the band. Steve and Bucky waved as they got their equipment stashed into the back and Clint and Scott signed a few more autographs.

When the fans had dispersed and they’d all climbed into the van, Clint sighed from his spot in the driver’s seat. “You’ve been making it work. The fans love it. I don’t really care, but you guys know I’ve been around performers since they gave me ‘baby’s first bow and arrow.' I’ve seen this play out time and time again.” He paused, steering out of the parking lot and onto the street. “The results are never pretty.”

“Steve’s pretty enough to make up for anything that might go wrong,” Bucky said smoothly as they got into their seats. Steve’s heart fluttered for a moment, most likely the energy of the evening wearing off as they drove down the city streets to their hotel. He smirked and rested his hand high on the curve of Bucky’s thigh, his fingers dipping into the crease of Bucky’s pants.

“Yeah, ok. I get it.” Clint sighed again as he climbed into the back row next to Scott. “I get it. You guys do you, just maybe give my concerns a consideration.”

Steve held back a yawn as he mock saluted Clint. “Consider them considered, my friend.”

 

*

 

Over the complimentary breakfast of almost fluffy waffles and dry eggs, Scott decided to weigh in on the discussion again. “I think Clint is on the right track here, guys. I don’t want to stop you two from spending time together, but what if things do go wrong? It’s not like you guys can just stop seeing each other if something happens.”

Bucky put his fork down on his plate, crossing his arms. “Do we really seem that unstable?”

“First off,” Steve listed the points, tapping them on his fingers. “We’re professionals. You know that, I should hope, considering we’ve been working together for over a year. Second, Bucky and I are adults. I think we can figure out what works and doesn’t for us without everyone’s expert opinions. It’s not going to come between the band.”

Clint raised an eyebrow as if waiting for something. “And where is the obligatory groping that comes with that statement this morning?”

“Fuck off,” Steve said, unable to hold back a yawn. “It’s like seven thirty in the goddamn morning. Let’s just eat and get this radio interview over with.” He turned to Bucky with a sleepy, half managed wink. “Then I’ll be awake enough to do whatever you want to do, babe.”

Steve’s yawn had Bucky yawning. “Christ, you punk. You’re putting me to sleep like that. I’m going get a coffee to go.”

“Get me one too!” Steve called behind him.

“Just ask them for the whole pot and a couple cups,” Clint added. “We’ll figure it out.”

 

*

 

“Good morning everyone. I’m here with Not Without You here on Breakfast with Bruce. So tell me a little about yourselves, guys.” Bruce leaned forward as he spoke into the microphone, smiling at the group. His headphones cut through the graying brown curls of his hair.

Bucky yawned. Steve yawned.

“Early mornings aren’t our strong suit,” Scott offered. “But we sure did have a great time performing here in Chicago last night. You guys are always a really welcoming crowd.”

“Yeah, I’ve got to agree,” Clint said, his voice about fifty times more enthusiastic than his face. “Our fans keep us going, even when it’s goddamned eight in the morning.” He paused. “Whoops, sorry, can I say that on the air?”

Bruce’s easy going smile didn’t fade for even a moment. “Just a little extra work for my sound editor. I hear you guys are releasing your first single from your new album today.”

That had Steve smiling and shaking off the last bits of his morning fog. “Yeah. So this album is actually deeply personal to all of us, and the first single is kind of going to just be that way too.”

“Speaking of deeply personal,” Bruce added, “Any words for the fans about your whirlwind romance with Bucky? Everyone’s been talking about the two of you on this tour.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve swore he saw Bucky look up sharply. But Steve had already began to answer that question too. “Man, it’s too early in the morning to be talking about my personal life like that,” he joked.

Clint shot Steve a look. “Bucky sings about going to the ‘end of the line’ with you in our newest single, Steve. I think the fans deserve to know about where you two stand. “

“Ok, ok.” Steve held up his hands to appease Clint. “Look, guys, you know where Bucky and I stand. We’ve been through this a million times. It’s busy out there on the road, and friends with benefits works for us.” He paused, pursing his lips as he considered the lines from the song Clint had referred to. Bruce had just opened his mouth to fill the silence when Steve continued. “As for ‘until the end of the line,’ well, that’s just a promise that we’ve made—as bandmates—to support each other, to go with this for as long as people want to see us perform.”

Steve couldn’t meet Bucky’s eyes after that, though. While Scott spoke about the fun recording sessions for the album, Steve ruminated on the single. Why had Bucky insisted on making that line about him and Steve? They had never really talked about it. It had just happened.

Just like everything else that happened between them. It was always a look, a smile, a smirk… and then a lack of clothes. And Steve loved it.

He shifted in his seat as Clint joined in on the conversation with Bruce again, relating a tale of the time they went to an archery range to shoot one of their music videos. He tentatively flicked his eyes over towards Bucky.

Bucky was taking another long sip of coffee, half nodding to whatever Clint was saying. Something about arrows and Scott trying to shoot from the wrong side of the bow. He was smiling.

Steve loved Bucky’s smile.

Startled by the realization, Steve pounced on a chance to get back into the conversation, to leave those thoughts behind for examination at a later date. “Did we mention how Clint never told us he had roughly ten years of archery practice before we went on tour? Yeah, somehow he managed to conceal that little detail.”

“Aw, Steve,” Clint replied, throwing a wink his way. “All you guys had to do was ask!”

“Tell us about your time in the circus,” Bruce interjected smoothly, continuing the morning show. “Do you think it prepared you for your rock and roll lifestyle?”

Clint laughed. “I think it prepared me to be ready for anything, so yeah.”

He went off into a story Steve had heard before, about a time he’d dropped an arrow and narrowly missed being trampled by a very pregnant elephant, and Steve couldn’t help but glance at Bucky again.

“You ok?” he mouthed when Bucky caught him looking. “You haven’t said anything.”

Bucky shook his head and half rolled his eyes to let Steve know he was ok. “Just tired as fuck,” he whispered. “Thanks to you last night.”

Steve didn’t think the microphones would pick up that comment, but his cheeks burned just the same. Bucky licked his lips, leaving them deliciously wet. Steve couldn’t look away.

“And we’re going to take a few questions from our callers before we take a break.” Bruce’s voice cut through Steve’s fixation on Bucky’s “no time to shave this morning” stubble and brought him back to the interview.

“Wow, so glad to be on your show,” came the breathless voice of lucky caller number one. “This question is for Bucky. You don’t have to answer, but I hope you will. Would you recommend your career path of going into the army before all of this? Did you-”

Bucky cut off the caller before they could finish speaking, his eyes flashing. “Oh, man, hell no. I would _never_ recommend the army or any branch of our godforsaken military.”

Bruce pursed his lips at the swears, but nodded almost imperceptibly. He didn’t make to cut off the caller or Bucky, and Bucky barrelled on, his voice calm but his face red around the edges. Steve had a sudden urge to get up and put a comforting hand on Bucky’s shoulder, his right shoulder, because Bucky always asked him to not touch the prosthetic when they were in bed together.

“Look. I’m not a great example, because they took me, they took my fucking arm, but they were at least decent enough to help me get a nicer, newer one. You need to talk to the guys who lose their limbs and _don’t_ get into the top secret experimental prosthetic programs. You need to talk to my buddies. Let me,” Bucky dug into his pocket, grabbing out his phone. “Let me just give you Gabe’s number—”

“As much as I appreciate your enthusiasm for answering the caller’s question,” Bruce interrupted, gentle but firm. “Let’s not give out personal information over the radio. Caller, you can email the station, and we’ll see what we can do for you.”

“Yeah,” Bucky nodded, sitting as close to his microphone as he could. “You do that. And if I can convince anyone here who’s listening to never set foot in a recruiting office, I can’t stress it enough, do not let them tempt you with false promises, you won’t have those promises when your arm is blown off.”

Bucky paused, a natural break in his rant, and Bruce smoothly slid in. “Thank you so much for sharing, Bucky. I’m going to go ahead and get the next question going.”

“Gosh, thanks so much for taking my call,” came the voice of the second caller. “I’m sorry, I’ve gotta ask this question to Bucky. I promise it’s not political. Basically, if I have to die knowing I’ll never get a chance with Steve, can you at least tell me he’s amazing in bed?”

“Oh, now that’s more like dessert chat than breakfast talk,” Bruce chided the caller playfully.

“You can’t tell me you’re not interested in the answer too!” the caller insisted, while Clint raised an eyebrow at Steve. Steve, for his part, managed to keep his ears from going bright red as he shrugged in what he hoped was a noncommittal way.

“Look, I’m going to be level with you. No one else in your life will ever measure up to what Steve’s capable of. I’m just saying.” Bucky laughed, and Steve decided that laugh was way too suggestive for a breakfast chat show.

“Oh my god.” The caller was breathless; she clearly agreed with Steve’s appraisal of the situation. “Ok. Do you two think you’ll ever make this relationship official or are you worried that it could, like, mess with the dynamics of the band?”

Steve stared at his microphone as if it were the most interesting piece of technology he’d ever seen. He wasn’t sure what answer he wanted to hear from Bucky. That weird stone in his stomach was back, and suddenly Steve had an idea why.

Somehow, he’d started to fall for Bucky.

“Look, Steve and I are professionals through and through,” Bucky said in a voice like a wink, and Steve wanted to wrap himself up in it. “The only thing you guys need to worry about is whether or not you’ve picked up tickets to our next show. I promise we’ll make it worth your while.”

Steve’s microphone was really, really interesting to look at. It was black and silver and looked like it was branded for Bruce’s show. But then he realized he heard his own damned voice speaking into it. “I think we’ve spent the whole tour showing you guys that we’re not going to mess with the dynamics of the band. Bucky and I are committed to the band.”

He left out the part where he wanted to say that he hoped Bucky was committed to him, too. But that was definitely not under the description of friends with benefits.

Shit.

“Spoken like a true professional,” Bruce said. “Thanks for calling in. Let’s go to our next call, Matt from New York…”

Matt from New York had a question for Scott about his inspiration for lyrics and melodies and they launched into a very serious conversation about the merits of dropped D tuning while Steve’s heart pounded in his chest. Eventually he managed to look over towards Bucky, but Bucky was staring off into the distance.


	2. Chapter 2

# 2

 

Another night meant another concert. Steve sat backstage and considered his favorite part of the evening. He craved the anticipation that built as the crowd filled up the venue. He loved the way their excited chatter rose louder and louder, and he especially fucking loved the way everyone lost their goddamn minds when he came out on stage with the band.

Steve raised his guitar to the crowd before settling it low on his abdomen, strumming the opening melody and enveloping the room in loud, raucous sound. Clint’s drumbeat thumped through the space like a heartbeat, drawing everything together. Filling in the offbeats on his bass was Bucky, and Steve melted into the music.

Losing himself in the energy of the show, Steve's skin thrummed with a faint electrical buzz. The stage lights were so bright that all of the faces in the crowd blurred together, and their voices blended to one as they sang along with Bucky. Steve just wanted to reach out and crush them all into a giant hug.

He could barely look at Bucky without wanting to do a lot more to him than just wrap his arms around him. God. Under the blue and gold stage lights, Bucky shone like he was priceless treasure, and Steve was helpless to stop staring. Bucky’s gray t-shirt had already turned dark with sweat, and it clung to his body, highlighting well defined muscle underneath that thin, wet fabric.

Every time Steve got too close to Bucky, he itched to touch him. He didn’t just want to cop a feel of his ass. He wanted to drop to his knees in front of Bucky and worship his cock. He wanted to bend him over, wanted to thrust into him while their skin buzzed with the energy of the show.

Steve needed to stay away. But with all eyes on them, and his very bones infused with the music, Steve couldn’t do it any more than Bucky seemed able to.

Bucky was already moving towards Steve as he sang, the swagger in his hips exaggerated to drive Steve wild. With only their guitar and bass to separate them, it was as though they played for each other while the audience screamed at them to “just kiss!”

Steve obliged the moment Bucky paused between verses. He was desperate to shove his tongue down Bucky’s throat, but he settled for sucking on his lower lip, tonguing at the soft skin just inside his mouth.

With a grin and a wink, Bucky took a half step back so he could start the next verse, and Steve licked his lips, holding onto the moment they just shared. There was no way they weren’t going to go straight back to the hotel and fuck after this show. Steve closed his eyes for a moment, the sound and light overwhelming as he thought about how good it was going to be to lose himself with Bucky. The music danced on his skin; he swore he was high off of the energy of the crowd alone.

He thought about asking Bucky to stay with him after they fucked tonight; he wanted to share this unceasing energy with someone special.

Bucky was someone special.

The thought hit him harder than Clint on his drumset as he considered the implication; they always went back to their own rooms after they fucked. They never spent the night wrapped in each other's arms. They were friends who just happened to know exactly what each other liked in bed.

Even as he considered how much he wanted to ask Bucky to stay with him tonight, Steve’s stage smile didn’t waver and his fingers didn’t miss a note. He wanted Bucky to spend the night with him.

Well, fuck. He would just have to shove that thought aside, sweep it offstage in his mind, and focus on the present. Scott launched into his solo for the song and Steve used the time to wink and flirt with the crowd.

Steve nailed his guitar line in the next song, and only partially groped Bucky when he was introducing the next song.

The crowd’s electric presence swirled around him the whole while. The lights seemed brighter, the notes he played more distinct than ever. And god, Bucky was like a fucking beacon, his voice deep and rough as he sang. It generated its own power, leaving the crowd—and Steve—wanting everything he had to give.

Bucky strutted the stage, his long legs mesmerizing as he moved to Clint's steady beat. Every step was an open invitation to stare. Steve thanked every higher power he could think of that he’d long since committed this particular song to muscle memory, because his brain had started to short out. Bucky was wearing the same worn black jeans that he always did, but they seemed to cling to his thighs and ass closer than ever.

Steve darted to the side of the stage between their songs and slammed down half of his water bottle. He dumped the rest of it over his head, the water running down his hair in cold, refreshing rivulets and mixing with the sweat of his skin.

The crowd liked that, too, even though he’d probably messed up his spiked hair. Steve wiped the water off his forehead as Clint started up another drumbeat and everyone cheered. God. He needed to get Bucky into bed and soon. How many songs did they have left in the set? It was a number greater than zero. Too damn many.

Everything blended together like a high impact storm, the music and the lights and the crowd, and swirling in the middle of it all was Bucky. Steve wasn’t sure how exactly they made their way to his hotel room, but the next thing he knew, they were there, and Bucky had his shirt half off. Steve was touching every inch of sweat-soaked skin as he kissed along Bucky’s neck, the taste of salt on his tongue.

Bucky groaned, the vibration palpable on Steve’s lips, and he whimpered as his knees tried to go slack.

“You were killing me out there today,” Steve admitted against Bucky’s skin, and Bucky shivered.

“It was a good show, wasn’t it?” Bucky tilted his head to gift Steve with even more access to his soft, sensitive, perfect throat.

“Sure,” Steve agreed. His hands, his body, his cock… everything was practically vibrating with need as he pressed up against Bucky, attempting to tug his shirt up. The sweat-soaked fabric stuck to Bucky’s back, and Steve slid his hands underneath to ease it off. “You’re always the best part.”

Shit. Was that too much? Would Bucky suspect that Steve had started to fall for him? Bucky just grinned and helped Steve pull his shirt off, tossing both shirts over towards the hotel room dresser.

Words were dangerous, so Steve stuck his tongue down Bucky’s throat, and they kissed instead. Their tongues tangled together, and Bucky slotted his leg between Steve’s. The pressure between his legs had Steve overwhelmed, like Bucky was the ocean crashing up against him, and Steve wanted to drown in him.

And _fuck._ Even as Bucky pushed down Steve’s pants and palmed his cock through his underwear, Steve couldn’t help but think about how much he wanted Bucky to stay after they were done. How he wanted to wrap his arms around him and hold him close and just be with him.

When did this happen?

Bucky tightened his grip on Steve's cock over the fabric and ran his fist from base to tip. Steve groaned, his knees going weak.

“Fuuuck,” he exhaled as Bucky did it again.

“Well, if you want to,” teased Bucky, reaching out to flick one of Steve’s nipple rings.

It took Steve a moment to gather his thoughts enough to reply. “Oh, I do.”

Steve _wanted_ Bucky to keep teasing his nipples like that, was pretty sure that he could come from the pleasurable sensitivity, the tiny touch of pain. But he also wanted to worship Bucky even if he couldn't put words to it yet.

He knelt down, hands tight around Bucky’s hips, and nuzzled up against Bucky’s soft skin. The smell of his sweat was strong but not pungent. Steve nipped at Bucky’s bellybutton piercing and ran his tongue over the sensitive spot just above it. Bucky groaned in appreciation, his hands on Steve’s shoulders for support.

Steve breathed out, his cock nearly vibrating between his legs as he worked Bucky over just by tonguing at his piercing. Bucky’s dick, strained inside his jeans, was a warm presence against Steve's chest and almost impossible to ignore.

Just another moment, Steve thought as Bucky’s grip on his shoulders tightened again. And then he kissed his way down Bucky’s stomach, enjoying every inch of his skin before undoing the button of Bucky’s pants with his mouth. The metal of his tongue piercing clinked against the zipper as he took it between his teeth and pulled down, unzipping the pants with his hands still on Bucky’s hips.

Steve didn’t miss a beat as he slid his fingers under the fabric of Bucky’s jeans--no underwear--and pushed them down. Bucky’s cock sprung up, heavy and dark, and surrounded by a thatch of somewhat trimmed dark curls of hair. Steve slipped his mouth around the tip of Bucky's cock and sucked, enjoying the involuntary twitches as he worked his tongue down the quivering length.

“Always perfect." Steve grinned at Bucky and tried not to project how much he wanted Bucky to know that he didn’t just mean his dick.

Bucky returned the grin, his eyes glassy with pleasure when Steve took his cock all at once in his mouth. Steve ran his tongue along the underside of his dick and dragged his piercing gently across the slit.

“Ohhhh,” Bucky breathed out, digging his fingers into Steve’s shoulder muscles.

Steve leaned in and did it again. Bucky mewled as Steve reached around with one hand to stroke between the cleft of Bucky’s ass and teased at the sensitive spot. He was rewarded with another sweet little gasp.

There was lube and a condom somewhere on the hotel room's standard issue side table, and Steve swept his hand over without ever taking his eyes off of Bucky. He hit something off the table and it clunked to the tan patterned carpet. Undeterred, he reached farther and wrapped his fingers around the plastic bottle of lube he’d unpacked earlier in the afternoon, positive they’d be using it that evening.

Just another moment longer and Steve had one lube-slicked finger working at Bucky’s entrance. He kept sucking him off at the same time, fondling his balls in the hope that somehow, Bucky would understand exactly how fucking gone for him Steve was.

Through the power of a blowjob, of course.

After a minute, Bucky pressed back against Steve’s finger. Perfect. Steve slid his tongue along Bucky’s cock again, slower, as he slipped another finger inside. Bucky’s dick twitched in his mouth, and Steve whined around it. Giving Bucky pleasure like this? While every inch of his skin was alive with sweat and excitement, with the hum of pleasure? Steve was positive he could come from just that alone.

Christ, okay, no. He couldn’t do that. Bucky would know something was wrong. That Steve wanted more than just a really good fuck. He took a deep breath and stood up all at once, tearing open the condom with hands that weren’t quite shaking and rolling it on.

“You ready?” he asked, a breathy grunt that he hoped landed on the right side of “I’m totally into fucking you just for fun and definitely don’t want you to stay the night after.”

Bucky nodded and turned his back to Steve, arching his back invitingly. “Fucking go for it,” he confirmed.  

Steve grinned; it was so easy to take Bucky’s hips between his hands and guide him to bend over the oversized armchair. The color of the armchair always varied from hotel to hotel--beige, tan, gray, cream, ivory--but Bucky’s ass up in the air was a constant, his face buried in an oversized pillow.

What if they did it with Bucky in the bed, looking up at Steve with adoration in his eyes as they joined together?

The image jammed itself in Steve’s brain, and he hesitated, glancing around the room for something, anything, to get his mind off of his heart hammering in his chest as he pictured Bucky smiling and tugging Steve closer so he could wrap Bucky up in his arms.

It wasn’t working. Bucky looked up at him, his teased hair losing a little of its trademark pouf as he turned. “A case of stage fright?” he joked, glancing with a grin at Steve’s groin. “Doesn’t seem like it.”

“Ha.” Steve took a deep breath and held it in, holding back everything he wanted to confess to Bucky in that moment. He stretched his fingers over Bucky’s soft skin and closed his eyes. Maybe it was best not to see Bucky’s face at all. “More like too excited,” he half-fibbed. “You’re incredible tonight, it’s really ramping me up and-”

“I get it,” Bucky said, his impish grin spreading across his face. “You don’t want me to do something like this…” He pushed his hips back, grinding up on Steve’s cock.  

Steve let out his breath of air in a low, excited groan. “Yes, that,” he said, but he wasn’t about to try to move away.

Bucky smirked before turning back to the pillow. “Give it to me, Steve. Been waiting all evening to have your hands on me.”

Another breath of air. Steve could definitely do this. He ran a hand down Bucky’s spine, eliciting a glorious little shiver under his fingers. Steve tangled his hand in Bucky’s hair and gripped tight. Another shiver, one that seemed to travel from Bucky’s body to Steve’s, and he grunted at the unexpected impact of it, his skin lighting up in anticipation again.

“Damn,” Bucky muttered, still audible even with half of it spoken into the pillow. “This is why I love it when you get all worked up.”

Steve tried to slot that “why I love it” to the side before his brain could latch onto it, but his heart raced in his chest at the thought of Bucky saying he loved him.

Only the fact that Bucky was open and ready in front of him saved Steve from spiraling into wondering if Bucky really loved him too. Steve caught his breath and pressed his cock into Bucky. He tried to let the stretch build slowly, but the heat of them coming together burned faster than he could bear. It set a fire deep inside, warmed him from tip to toes in a crashing wave.

Another breath, loud in his ears. Another wave of perfect pleasure as Bucky clenched his muscles around the tip of Steve's cock. Holy shit.

One more breath.

Bucky wriggled his hips under Steve’s firm hand, trying to push back again, to take Steve in deeper, but Steve held steady. All he had to do was breathe, and press in another inch, and breath.

He couldn’t tell Bucky that he wanted to wake up with him in the morning and share secrets with him at night as they drifted to sleep together. Bucky would at best be kind and understanding and at worst? Steve’s confession would fuck up the band’s energy.

Hands a little tighter around Bucky's hips, Steve eased in another inch, and Bucky groaned happily underneath him.

They were both grown-ass adults. He could tell Bucky how he felt. Bucky would say he didn’t feel the same, and they’d figure something out. It wouldn’t fuck up everything.

Bucky was so fucking perfect, his muffled grunts pulsing through every inch of Steve’s body like little electric charges. Steve couldn’t help growling back in response, as he thought fuck going slow, fuck thinking about anything except how good it felt to be with Bucky.

Steve twisted his fingers through Bucky’s hair one more time before letting go and running his finger back down Bucky’s neck. He paused at the shoulder, tracing the scar around where Bucky’s metal arm began.

For a moment that lasted an eternity, Bucky stiffened underneath Steve.

“Sorry!” Steve could kick himself. They’d been doing this for how long, and Bucky always said to just leave his left arm alone. There was nothing he could say that didn’t also say how much he wanted to be more than friends with benefits.

“You’re in a mood tonight, aren’t you?” Bucky finally said. He didn’t look up at Steve, but it was clear he was shaking his head against the armchair pillow. “Just don’t do it again, ok?”

“Absolutely.” Steve ran his fingers along Bucky’s other shoulder, dragged his fingernails lightly down Bucky’s back in an attempt to bring back the mood.

Bucky relaxed into the touch, and that was the moment Steve realized he could breathe again. He was still hard as hell and sheathed deep in Bucky’s ass. Time to make the most of the moment. Steve started moving, undulating his hips as he built up a gentle but unyielding rhythm. Bucky’s breath came in short gasps, his face pushed up against the pillow.

Steve kept one hand on Bucky’s hips for balance and traced every other line of Bucky’s body that he could reach with his other hand. Bucky’s thighs were warm and strong under his fingers, the strong muscles curving into an even better ass. Steve kneaded the skin lightly before sliding his fingers around Bucky’s hips and over his stomach.

He braced his hand on the sweat-slicked skin and thrust into Bucky harder, losing himself to the sensation. Bucky moaned underneath him, and even the huge armchair beneath Bucky rocked with the force of them coming together.

“Yes, just like that!” Bucky’s voice was muffled against the pillow Steve was fucking him into, but his enthusiasm was undampered. Steve rocked his hips against Bucky again, and Bucky cried out, “Fuck, yes!”

Steve grinned and ran his fingers down from Bucky’s stomach, reaching farther until his hand bumped against Bucky’s heavy, hard cock. He explored Bucky’s cock blindly, his gaze on Bucky’s shoulders and back, the way he arched in pleasure. Bucky’s dick was wet at the tip, just a touch of leaking precum.

What if they moved to the bed?

Steve shoved the idea out of his head, gripping tightly on Bucky’s cock and jacking him off, just like they always did.

What if Bucky smiled up at Steve when they came together, what if Bucky pulled him closer just to cuddle, what if they tried being more than just friends…

Steve grunted as he came with a sudden jolt of energy, the fire inside him blazing up high enough to char every inch of his skin before retreating back into something more manageable. He gasped for breath even as he kept his fingers wrapped around Bucky’s perfect cock, urging him into his orgasm.

Bucky writhed beautifully beneath him as he came, and Steve did his best to catch most of it in his hand to avoid a mess on the hotel carpet.

It wasn’t like they really lingered after finishing up, but Steve pulled out faster than normal even as every bit of his body protested, as every hormone in his blood insisted that he pull Bucky closer. He all but ran to the sink to clean his hands and to throw out the used condom in the trash can.

When he turned around, Bucky had gotten up and was studying him with an unreadable expression in his eyes, his eyebrows pulled together thoughtfully.

Steve bit his lip, not trusting himself to say anything that wasn’t incriminating of all the thoughts jostling in his brain.

Bucky tilted his head, his tangled, just-fucked hair flopping to the side. God, he was beautiful. Steve could have groaned. He couldn’t escape the thoughts.

“Awesome as always, Steve.” Bucky paused and dropped his glance to the ground, like he was hesitating to say something else.

Steve’s heart pounded, his feet rooted to their spot in front of the room’s sink. Maybe Bucky wanted to bring up being more than friends too? He took a deep breath, his mouth dry while he waited. He couldn’t bring up what he wanted to Bucky without knowing _he_ wanted it too. He wasn’t going to be so selfish as to ruin what they did had with his feelings.

“I’m, uh, sorry for how I reacted about you touching my shoulder,” Bucky said, his words in a rush. “It’s pretty obvious you were just, y’know, just touching me in the heat of the moment and-”

“Oh!” Steve shook his head, already stepping forward and then pausing. Was it better to keep his distance or to be closer? “You don’t need to apologize. You’ve been clear about it, and I fucked up.”

Bucky nodded slowly, more like he was considering Steve’s words than just agreeing with him.

“Uh, for what it’s worth? I don’t mind your arm, your shoulder, any of it.” Steve swallowed down the rest of the sentence, lest he start going on about how it was all part of _Bucky_ and therefore something he loved.

Christ, ok, Steve needed to just go to bed and sleep off this madness.

Preferably snuggling up next to Bucky.

Bucky’s smile was a tiny little quirk of his lips, the absolute smallest smile Steve had ever seen. Somehow, it was more real than the sassy grins Bucky threw his way when they flirted on stage.

“Yeah, okay. I appreciate you respecting my request. But it’s something I’ve talked with my therapist about. Not about you, about me.” Bucky paused again and scratched at the side of his head. He brushed his hair back in attempt to tame the tangled mess. “Anyhow. I’ll get going before I say something stupid.”

Steve bit his lip, willing himself not to say anything stupid either. Even just this little discussion about Bucky’s arm? It was way out of their ordinary ‘post-sex fist bump and go to their own rooms to shower and sleep’ routine, and Steve wanted to extend the moment as long as possible.

Bucky’s noncommittal shrug was paired with a grimace-smile at Steve as he gathered up his clothes and got dressed. “See? I’ve already made things weird. Sorry about that. See you tomorrow.” He made his way to the door.

Steve was sure he was imagining that Bucky was walking slower than usual. He still couldn’t help but blurt out, “Say something stupid!”

Bucky had his hand on the door handle. He looked back at Steve, tilting his head again. “What?”

“I just mean—if you have something you want to say, it’s cool. We’re friends. You can say things to me if you want.” Steve fought every urge to stare at the beige carpet. He met Bucky’s eyes in what he hoped was a very ‘we’re friends’ sort of way. When Bucky paused and didn’t say anything, Steve’s skin started to crawl with worry, so he kept talking. “Maybe friends with benefits means… uh, maybe the benefits could also be that I listen to you if you’ve got something on your mind?”

Bucky smiled at that. “I think I get what you’re trying to say, but _god_ are you bad at saying it.”

Steve just shrugged helplessly. He didn’t dare open his mouth again, because who knew what would come out next. He sure as fuck didn’t know. He’d probably suggest that they start sharing a hotel room together to save on their budget or some shit.

And then there’d only be one bed and well, guess they’d have to share.

Steve stopped short of smacking himself in the face and turned back to the sink, filling one of the cups with water and gulping it down. He filled the second cup for Bucky and brought it to him.

He tried not to think about the sparks that he imagined when Bucky took the cup and their hands brushed. For fuck’s sake. They had just finished _fucking_ and here he was, giddy about them being ten steps away from holding hands.

Bucky’s smile slowly faded as he seemed to consider his words. “I guess I was just trying to say that maybe it’s ok if you touch my shoulder. Maybe.” He took a long drink of the tepid sink water.

“I don’t ever want to do something you’re uncomfortable with,” Steve managed. His head started to hurt, a tightness building behind his temples, and he really needed to sit down for a minute to gather his thoughts.

“I know. Trust me, I know,” Bucky said, with an odd smile. He opened his mouth, closed it, stuck his hand in the teased mess of his hair and then added, “So yeah. I guess don’t worry about touching me there? Just like. Don’t surprise me.”

Steve nodded, really not trusting himself not to blurt out something he’d regret in the morning light. He tried to match Bucky’s smile and wondered if Bucky thought his smile looked just as odd.

If Bucky had any such thoughts, he didn’t acknowledge them. “Good night, Steve. See you tomorrow.”

He left. Silence settled around Steve, and the cup clinked as he put it on the counter on his way to the bathroom. He showered, scrubbing his skin hard as he replayed every moment of their night together and scoured it for hints that maybe, somehow, Bucky wanted to take their arrangement to actually dating too.

The water sprayed hot on his back, washing away sweat and sex and leaving Steve with just Bucky’s words and that little smile. If he couldn’t do something about his feelings for Bucky, he wasn’t sure what his other options were. He rested his hand on the tile and sighed.


	3. Chapter 3

#  3

“I think we need a better driving schedule," Steve said with a yawn from his spot in the driver’s seat. The skyscrapers of Chicago faded from the background of the rearview mirror. “Feels like I’ve always got the first stretch.”

Clint nodded from the backseat, wrapped in his blanket and already half out. “You’re the closest to a morning person we have.”

Beside Clint, Scott snored lightly, already passed out with a pillow propped against the side of the van.

Steve turned his glance away from the rearview mirror. “I feel like a turtle winning a sloth race. Not really that impressive of a win.” 

“See, look. You’re awake enough to come up with poetic shit like that. Lemme get my couple of hours and then I’m all over that wheel for you.” Clint yawned, stretching out his arms and snuggling up against his pillow. 

“It’s all good, my friends.” Sitting in the passenger seat, Bucky lifted his thermos of coffee like a holy grail. “I’ll keep Steve company with my excellent conversation. Until the coffee runs out, anyhow.”

Steve bit his lip, his fingers drumming on the steering wheel. They were back to friends in the morning, just like always. Steve wasn’t sure if it was exhaustion or disappointment that lodged itself into his heart and left a soft, dull ache.

Bucky, on the other hand, seemed fine. His dark hair was pulled back into a short ponytail for travel. His easy going smile didn’t seem hampered by any lingering concerns, and the hint of dark circles under his eyes were the only remnants of their late night together. 

Rush hour traffic started to flood the lanes, so Steve kept his eyes on the road, and tried yet again to pinpoint when these extra feelings had taken root. They’d grown into something so desperate to bloom that he’d finally noticed them. 

Clearly they’d been under the surface for longer, but he’d done a great job of ignoring them. Like the way his heart beat faster when Bucky looked his way? Easily explained by the fact that they were usually about to go on stage or have sex — both things guaranteed to get his heart rate up. Definitely had nothing to do with  _ caring _ about him as more than friends. Right?

“Steve, are you even listening to my grade A morning banter?”   


Steve tried to recall what Bucky had been saying. A car in front of them merged, and he slowed down to compensate. He had nothing. “Sorry, Buck. Guess managing the morning rush traffic is taking up all of my brain power this morning.”

“I get it. Ohio isn’t going to come to meet us.” Bucky stared out the window, and Steve couldn’t see his face.

Scott’s snoring got louder in the backseat. 

“Only four more shows on the tour,” Steve mused, an attempt at conversation. “Then it’s back to the studio for us again to finish the album.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying, but you weren’t listening at all, were you?” Bucky laughed before taking a drink from his thermos. His quiet “ahhh” after the sip was still enough to draw Steve’s attention.

“Good coffee?” Steve left out the part that the little satisfied noise after a sip of coffee was one of the things he thought he might love about Bucky. He needed to stop thinking that. 

“It gets the job done,” Bucky countered. “I haven’t yawned yet, have I?”

“You ought to have made one for me,” Steve replied and immediately bit his tongue at his insinuation that they were together, that making a coffee is something Bucky would think to do for Steve.

“And have Scott and Clint asking for one too? Nothing doing.” Bucky’s laugh came easily, like he didn’t read into the statement the way Steve thought he would. 

Maybe Steve really was the only one thinking about the two of them together. The dull ache in his chest throbbed once or twice, and Steve shook his head. He kept his eyes on the road. It wouldn’t do to endanger the band while he wrestled his feelings.

“You awake enough for this?” Bucky’s voice shook Steve from his thoughts yet again. “Wanna pull over and have me drive for a bit?”

Steve waved the offer off. A smattering of panic activated, his skin warming as he tried to focus. “I’m not tired. Just determined to get us there safe, and I’m just — ” he broke off lest he tried to explain how Bucky occupied every one of his thoughts. 

He needed someone he could talk to about this situation, but he could only imagine how pissed Clint and Scott would be if he confessed feelings about Bucky to them. Maybe he could call Sam or Nat, if he could find a time when they weren't at work, and he had three minutes of time alone.

And now he was trailing off without saying anything to Bucky for the third time, which might be worse.

“Lost in thought,” he finished, lamely, too late. He might as well pay for a billboard ad, might as well have someone write “lost in thoughts about BUCKY” across the sky.

Steve counted the cars that passed him in the left lane as he waited for Bucky’s response. One, two…with each count, his heart raced a little faster.

“Maybe we can use some of those deep thoughts for a song or two?” Bucky asked. 

Steve could have kissed him. Either Bucky didn’t notice something was off, or he noticed and was giving Steve an out. 

Too bad he couldn’t really kiss him. Not like that, not like they were dating.

He was back to square one, again.

And, fuck, he hadn’t replied to Bucky. Again. 

“Maybe. If we wanted to produce an album of lullabies.”

Bucky laughed, the mid-morning sun bouncing off of his hair and highlighting the deep brown auburn. Steve wished he could stop the van just to turn his full attention on Bucky. He wanted to run his fingers through Bucky’s hair, wanted to kiss his eyelashes and drag his tongue ring down his neck. 

Only four more concerts and then Steve could get some space from Bucky to sort out his thoughts. The problem was, he didn’t want space. The center console between them right now? Too much space.

“What about an album of you telling me what’s really on your mind?” Bucky’s voice was so soft that Steve thought he imagined it.

He glanced away from the road for just a moment, just long enough to confirm that Bucky was looking at him, expecting an answer. 

There was no way he could risk fucking things up when they still had four concerts to go. 

“Been thinking about the future,” Steve started, picking his words carefully. God, he hated lying, especially to Bucky. But maybe mostly truths were ok, just for now. Just long enough to get through the rest of the tour. “People are really responding to this whole thing we’ve got going.”   
  
“Buying stuff based on speculation of people’s love lives fuels at least two percent of the GDP,” Bucky stated, as solemnly as if he weren’t spouting out total bullshit.

“Good try. But I meant the band.” Mostly. “I just wonder sometimes, how long are we going to be able to keep this up? Are we gonna be selling out reunion tours thirty years from now? Dropping new albums when we’re in our middle ages?” Steve glanced at the rearview mirror. Clint and Scott were still passed out in their seats. “How much longer do you think those two are going to put up with our bullshit?”

Bucky’s hair swished as he shook his head. “Those are deep ass questions for nine in the morning, Steve. Especially after you kept me awake so late last night.”

Traffic started to thin out as they passed the border into Indiana, as did the gray clouds of the morning. Steve shrugged, one hand on the steering wheel and one resting against the ledge at the bottom of the window. 

“You kept me awake just as late,” he retorted, smiling. The sun settled comfortably behind a few giant fluffy, white clouds.

Steve almost swore he heard Bucky mutter, “I doubt it.” But before he could decide one way or another, Bucky was already talking at a normal volume. “Thing is, I think that we’ve got some more good years with the band here. Especially if we come up with some good shit for this next album. One or two singles with good radio play, can you imagine?”

“Sure. The moment we get that kind of playability, we’re admitting we’re no different than fucking Maroon 5,” Steve teased. 

“The dream,” Bucky insisted. 

They fell into easy conversation for awhile longer, Steve doing his best to keep his thoughts on the road and their band musings. Eventually, Clint woke up and started scrolling through some of their social media accounts. As the sun broke out from behind the clouds, Scott woke up and declared that it must be close to lunch.

Steve wasn’t going to argue; the dry hotel cereal and banana he’d inhaled that morning had definitely ran out. They debated back and forth on exactly which fast food restaurant to patronize before Steve just signaled to move right and chose the next exit. Bucky, Scott, and Clint ended up running across the parking lot to get burgers from some small chain restaurant while Steve filled the gas tank.

The acrid smell of gasoline filled his nose, reminding him of how thankful he was to have grown out of his childhood asthma. From his position at the gas pump, he saw the others heading back with bags of food. Clint balanced two cup holders, each full of drinks as he jumped over the small wall separating the gas station parking lot from the restaurant.

“Trying to make sure we need to stop for three more bathroom breaks before we get there?” Steve called.

“Two for one milkshakes,” Scott said, as if that explained everything. "Everyone gets a milkshake!”

“Don’t worry, Steve, I made sure you got a nice, boring vanilla one,” Bucky teased as he grabbed one of the cups from the holder. 

Clint rebalanced the cup holder with ease. “Meanwhile, I get mint chocolate cookie, Scott’s enjoying some sort of peanut butter chocolate ‘we aren’t licensed to say Reese’s Cup’ work-around nonsense, and Bucky got, uh — ”

“Strawberry, I’m sure,” Steve laughed. “Seeing as it was probably the only fruit option. Just wait until they come out with a plum shake. Ugh! Just saying that makes me want to gag.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “The history of fruit-flavored milkshakes is long and very interesting, I’ll have you know.”

“He’s making that up too, isn’t he?” Scott stage whispered to Clint. 

Everyone laughed as Steve hung up the gas pump and closed the cap, twisting it until it clicked three times. They climbed into the van, Clint adjusting the driver seat to his exacting specifications, and Scott jumping into the passenger seat. Steve took a deep breath as he hauled himself into the seat behind Clint. Another couple of hours in close proximity with Bucky, and no driving to claim as a distraction.

At least this time he could sleep. Maybe.

“So here’s the thing,” Scott said as Clint took the wheel and pulled out of the gas station to get back on I90. “I think we need to shake things up on this next album. Are you guys with me?”

“You’re saying we’re bland?” Bucky sipped his milkshake. “Seems harsh. Steve’s the only one drinking a vanilla milkshake.”

Steve watched the traffic out the window and refrained from saying  _ great then I can just tell you that I love you and that’ll shake things up, right? _ He took a drink of his perfectly delicious milkshake.

“Nah, not bland.” Scott gestured with his hands, almost knocking Clint’s milkshake over from the cupholder. “I want to take what we’ve got and go to the next level. Take people’s expectations of us and twist them around a little, tweak what they expect and add a little sparkle.”

“You want us to sparkle like those goddamned Twilight vampires?” Clint teased. “That’s definitely not our style.”

“Look. If you guys don’t want to take it to the next level, I got you. You wanna be stagnant, grow mold, gather moss,” Scott said. “I’ll be here, plastic scraper in hand when you all are ready.”

Steve snorted. “So are you just inspiring us and hoping we’ll come up with something, or do you have something in mind?” 

Scott flashed his best smile. “Little bit of both. I’ve got a few ideas jumping around. What do you guys think about the words ‘concept album?’”

“Oh hell no, Scott, we talked about this,” Clint said, his grin still playful despite the serious tone. “You’re going to have a hell of a concept to get me on board.”

Spreading his hands out like he was reading a theatre marquee, Scott adopted his best announcer voice. “Not Without You, performing from their  _ triple platinum _ album, ‘Attack of the Ants.’”

“God fucking damn it, Scott,” Bucky spat out, laughing. “I already told you I am not singing about your Ant Man.”

Warmth spread in Steve’s chest as Bucky laughed, his head tipped back and his cheeks tinted pink. He was beautiful. How nice would it be if he could just reach over and put his hand on Bucky’s? The warmth dissipated. Even though Bucky was only a seat over, he was out of reach.

“I’ve got to admit,” Steve said, trying to cling to the playful atmosphere of their conversation, “We might need a few transitional concept albums before we can tackle Ant Man if we don’t want to lose all of our fans along the way.”

“Don’t encourage him!” Bucky shook his head. “You guys’ll need a new singer for that shit.”

“Ok, ok,” Scott said, pretending to wave an imaginary white flag. “I yield. How about we get a harpist instead?”

Clint groaned from the driver’s seat, and Steve had to turn back to the window. Some asshole in a red Corvette sped past, diving between lanes in a near futile attempt to get ahead of a few extra cars. Traffic wasn’t even that bad. Steve’s sigh was quiet, not noticeable over the conversation as Bucky cautiously conceded to the idea of adding an orchestral vibe to some of their tracks. 

“It’s not that I mind doing something unexpected,” Bucky explained. “It’s that I don’t want to force it.”

Confident that Bucky had the conversation covered for now, Steve leaned his head against the door and closed his eyes in an attempt to rest. Maybe he'd text Sam in a bit, ask for his advice.

“For sure,” Scott said. He paused, and then: “What if you and Steve did like, a love ballad?”

Any thought of rest flew out the window. Steve rocketed from leaning to sitting ramrod straight. His heart began to pound as he realized that his knee-jerk reaction was too much. There’s no way everyone wasn’t completely suspicious. Steve needed to deflect the conversation before it got worse. “I don’t sing.” 

At the exact same time, Bucky said, “A love ballad?” 

He sounded thoughtful, and Steve really, really didn’t want to look his way. Thank god for Clint running the a/c on full blast. It was the only thing keeping Steve’s neck from heating up and turning pink. He turned to see Bucky tapping a finger to his chin, his lips pursed. Steve wanted to say his expression was cautious, but why would Bucky be cautious about a love ballad?

“Kind of capitalize on this relationship thing you guys have going.” Clint was nodding in the front seat. “I like it. The fans loved the 'end of the line' stuff. An actual love song? They would probably go ballistic.”

“I don’t sing,” Steve repeated, keeping his voice even. Bucky was going to know that he was falling in love; Clint was gonna fix him with a curious stare and read his mind and everyone was going to know. 

Scott brushed off the concern. “We could work it so you’re really just repeating a few lines in the chorus. Anyone can sing a few lines, I promise you that.”

Steve crossed his arms, blowing a puff of air up at his bangs so the long hairs shifted away from his eyes. “So you sing it.”

“Why don’t we just keep it in mind?” Bucky asked. He smiled over at Steve and reached out, ran a teasing hand down Steve’s arm. “It could be fun.”

Steve’s strained smile didn’t seem to throw Bucky off. “Yeah. Fun.” 

So Bucky didn’t have a problem with them singing each other a love ballad? Steve wanted to ask if he was just that comfortable with their current arrangement. It hurt, a little. 

Steve looked down at his arm, where Bucky had touched him; he still had goosebumps on his skin from the light brush of skin on skin. Maybe it hurt more than a little to know that Bucky didn’t want to take things any further. 

Steve closed his eyes again, pretending to be asleep the rest of the way to Cleveland.

 

*

 

Something was different that night. Steve couldn’t put his finger on it. He worked his guitar and smiled Bucky’s way every so often, just like always. The crowd loved them, especially when Bucky sauntered over and teased him, running his fingers along the shell of his ear and tracing each spiked piercing.

Steve tilted his head, leaned into the touch, imagined Bucky doing that as he sang a  _ love ballad _ at him, and then everything around them shattered like a fragile mirror into too many pieces.

Friends with benefits wasn’t working for Steve, but he was the only one in the whole goddamned club who it wasn’t working for. The adoring faces in the crowd shrieked their excitement, but instead of the usual hum of energy, it faded like a lightbulb on a dimmer switch being turned down.

“We’ve been looking forward to this show all tour,” Bucky was saying to the crowd after the song, his words blending into part of the background noise while Steve spun his gears trying to fall back into their easy pattern of making music and flirting.

By the end of the set, Steve had never been more thankful that they were doing a backstage event after they played. He wasn’t ready to be alone with Bucky.

“Steve!” Bucky’s voice cut through the noise of people moving equipment and breaking down the stage set up. 

Next thing Steve knew, he was being pulled into a tiny storage room, shelves filled with old lights and sound hook ups. Alone with Bucky.

Before he could get a word out, Bucky had dropped to his knees in front of him. His hair was a beautiful mess, and his face was flushed from an hour of singing and prancing around the stage. He ran his tongue across his bottom lip and smiled. “You’re looking super stressed tonight. Let me help you out before we go see our fans?”

Steve choked on his words. Bucky was already reaching for his zipper, tugging it down and waiting for Steve to give him permission to keep going. 

“We’ve only got a minute — ” Steve began, and Bucky raised an eyebrow at him.

“I’m feeling confident.” Bucky pressed his nose up against Steve’s crotch and grinned.

Steve whimpered, already half hard. Every conflicting feeling aside, he was only human, and Bucky was on his knees in front of him, smiling like Steve was doing him a goddamn favor letting him suck his dick.

“Yeah fuck ok,” Steve said in a single breath of air, hoping like hell no one needed to replace a light in the next three minutes.

Bucky didn’t waste a goddamn moment, tugging down Steve’s skintight pants just far enough to let his hardening cock out. Steve groaned as the cooler air of the storage space hit his cock, followed immediately by Bucky’s breath, warm on Steve’s skin. Another breath and then Bucky had Steve’s cock in his mouth.

Steve squirmed and pressed against a shelf. Some part of a light pushed into his back, but Bucky’s hands were insistent on Steve’s hips, and his nose was bumping up against the blond curls of hair at the base of Steve’s cock.

“Oh my god, Bucky,” Steve gasped out, trying to keep his voice low. 

Was it possible to  _ feel _ a grin? Steve swelled in Bucky’s mouth, and he damn near lost it just from the sensation of his cock bumping against Bucky’s teeth, his cheeks, his tongue. 

Bucky moaned, a deep groan that vibrated against Steve’s skin, and Steve let out a shuddery breath.

“Holy, shit, fuck!” Steve tried to string words together and failed, miserably.

With a satisfied hum, Bucky reached up. He grabbed Steve’s balls with one hand, running his fingers against them. Then, a second later, he wrapped his prosthetic metal hand around the base of Steve’s cock, giving a tentative squeeze. 

Steve saw stars from the soft touch and cool metal and Bucky’s mouth. Bucky lapped at the tip of his dick, his tongue firm and just rough enough to keep Steve grounded. 

“There you go, Steve, you’re doing so good,” Bucky purred, looking up at Steve through his dark, long eyelashes as he leaned to take Steve’s cock back in his mouth.

Bucky’s sweet praise mixed with the warmth of his mouth hit Steve so hard and fast that he shoved his fingers into his mouth to stop from shouting as he came, every muscle in his body tensing for a moment before relaxing into a rhythmic pulse. 

Bucky kept his hands on Steve, letting up pressure bit by bit, sliding back on his heels and unsheathing Steve’s cock from his mouth inch by inch until he was smiling up at Steve. He licked a bit of cum off his lips and Steve nearly choked on his fingers trying not to make a sound.

“There? Feeling a bit more relaxed?” Bucky asked.

“Holy hell, Buck. That was amazing. Can I—”

Bucky didn’t let Steve finish the question. He shook his head as he pulled Steve’s pants back up and patted him on the shoulder. 

“No time, my friend. It’s time to meet some fans.” Bucky was already half way through the door before he looked back and winked. “You can return the favor after we’re done.”

Steve stared after Bucky for a good moment before reaching up and slicking back the sides of his hair. He touched his mohawk, made sure everything was relatively in place, and headed after Bucky. For the first time since he’d started wanting  _ more _ with Bucky, a certain amount of peace settled around him. Maybe he could make what they had work after all.

“Ok,” Steve called after Bucky. “I’m gonna pay you back with interest.”

“Is that a threat?” Bucky glanced over his shoulder with a devilish grin. “Cause I’m into that.”

 

*

 

The sun still hadn’t quite broken the horizon the next morning when they left the hotel to start driving to their next gig. 

“Is Scott actually… alive?” Steve asked, watching Clint practically haul Scott across the parking lot and shove him into the van.

“God. Why does six am exist?” Scott mumbled. He was back asleep the moment he finished putting his seat belt on. 

Clint took pity on him and shoved a pillow under his head and tossed a blanket at his feet. Steve climbed in on the passenger side with Bucky at the wheel.

“Alright motherfuckers.” Bucky stared at everyone as he spoke. “It’s six in the morning, get your goddamn seatbelts on. And no one utters a single word about my musical stylings unless you want me to fall asleep and put all our lives in danger,” Bucky said, punctuating his pauses with gulps of coffee. He shifted the van into reverse and yawned. “New York, here we come.”

“Do you need me to stay awake?” Steve asked, not sure what answer he wanted to hear. Outside the van, the buildings and streets blended together, bathed in the first bits of the sunrise. “I probably should have brought more coffee.”

Bucky’s grin was just as bright, just as beautiful as those sunbeams. “Oh, I slept like a goddamn rock after what you did to me last night.”

In the backseat, Clint groaned. 

“But seriously,” Bucky continued. “Get some rest if you want to. I promise I’ll wake you all up the moment I feel like I need a conversation to keep me going.”

Steve nodded. He tucked his pillow between his shoulder and the van door and fidgeted with his seatbelt, sliding it over a little in an attempt for comfort. His exhaustion should have pulled him down into sleep quickly, but he couldn’t quite get comfortable.

The van hit a bump and his pillow shifted. Scowling, he folded it in half and wedged it between the seat and the door and tried to wiggle up against it. When that didn’t work, he leaned the seat back an inch and then another inch. Pulled his pillow out again and fluffed it up. 

Clint and Scott snored lightly in the backseat while Bucky listened to some sort of electronic dance music with a violin and chugged coffee. 

Steve stretched out his legs and shifted his weight from left to right, trying to decide which way took the longest to make his feet numb. He fiddled with the air conditioner vent, nudging it over until the cold air wasn’t directly on him.

He shoved his pillow back up against the door, then closed his eyes and emptied his mind of everything. Except, when he opened his eyes, he saw Bucky. Bucky’s hair was pulled back into his travel ponytail, but pieces had already escaped to frame his face. The sun was a little higher now, peeking over the top of some of the shorter buildings. His eyebrow piercing caught the light, the silver metal shining.

Steve closed his eyes again, but Bucky was all he saw.


	4. Chapter 4

#  4

 

“NEW YORK!” Bucky shouted into the microphone that night. “We’re so fucking glad you let us back here after what happened last time!”

The crowd cheered as Clint nailed the opening beat of their first song. Steve stared down the stage lights to the fans who were already singing along with Bucky’s lines, their hands already in the air.

Steve was ready for the excitement of the evening to wrap around him, to energize him, but it was like trying to touch something through thick fabric. His skin almost buzzed with the usual thrill; the crowd’s energy was so close to pulling him in, but he couldn’t quite break through and reach it.

He played his notes and tried to let the beat flow through him, but it seemed to stop short. Hiding his frustration behind a smile, Steve might as well have been watching everyone through a window. 

Bucky shone through, a vision in his tight pants and shirt. His hair caught the stage lights as he sang. When he looked Steve’s way, he grinned and licked his lower lip.

Instead of the usual excitement, tendrils of panic jolted through Steve’s chest and left him short of breath. His smile shook, but he forced it back into place. Christ. Bucky moved towards him, and Steve’s stomach dropped even as heat gathered in his groin. He wanted Bucky’s hands on his body so much it hurt, but the thought of Bucky touching him now? Steve was a goddamn jackass for leading him on and letting him think he could handle this whole friends with benefits. 

The audience shrieked their excitement when Bucky reached Steve and ran his fingers on the side of Steve’s head, tracing down his jaw. Steve was powerless to step back. Before he could breathe out, Bucky had already pulled back, singing the next line in a predatory growl.

Knees weak and fingers shaking, Steve just managed to play his notes steady. Did anyone notice? Clint’d kill him if he brought down the band with his lovesick antics. Steve took another, deeper breath, and threw himself into the song. 

No matter how much he wanted to be part of the show’s energy, he couldn’t fucking reach it. He hit every note and even threw a wink Bucky’s way to the thrill of the crowd, but he might as well have been playing a video game, being controlling by someone else. 

They finished the song and Steve jogged to the side of the stage, grabbed his beer, and downed half of it in three long swallows. He needed hydration, sleep, and some goddamn vegetables instead of fast food. He settled for slamming the rest of the beer and grabbing a water bottle for the stage.

The little bit of a buzz helped. Steve pushed down his worry and looked over at Bucky again. Part of Bucky’s hair was wet down with sweat, and his shirt was dark down the back for the same reason. Steve knew the exact sound those wet clothes would make when he shucked the shirt of Bucky’s back.

Fuck. He breathed through his nose and tried to focus on whatever Bucky was saying. 

“Y’all don’t understand how many speeding tickets we got trying to get here on time…” Bucky grinned as the audience laughed.

Clint, who had a microphone for his backing vocals, rolled his eyes. “If  _ someone _ didn’t stop every hour to go to the bathroom, I wouldn’t have to break out the rockets to get us places on time. Just saying.”

The audience laughed again, and Steve smiled. Yeah, this felt a little better. He could make it work. He watched for Bucky’s nod and wrapped his fingers around his guitar, playing the opening riff to the next song.

It was like a tickle at the back of his neck, that familiar joy of being on stage, and Steve could have cheered. It was a trickle, not a flood, but it was enough to ease him into the stage presence he wanted to project. Steve sauntered over to Bucky, pausing to gyrate in front of Clint for a moment just for fun.

_ That _ bought them a shriek from a small but apparently dedicated section of the audience. Steve couldn’t help his grin. Little by little, the panicked tentacles crushing his chest were released. He could do this.

He made his way across the stage to the rhythm of their song and slid his guitar to the side for just long enough to grind up behind Bucky for a few beats before grabbing his guitar in time for the chorus.

Bucky winked and blew him a kiss in between words, and the confidence Steve had gathered shattered. 

He wanted that kiss to mean so much more. 

His wooden smile pasted back on, Steve finished up the song in a haze, going through the motions and berating himself for not getting past his hang ups.

Bucky didn’t deserve this; the band didn’t deserve this. In the middle of the stage, between each song, throughout the audience’s cheers, Steve finally realized that if he couldn’t manage his feelings for Bucky, he’d fuck up everything for the band. 

He looked over at Bucky again. He was positively glowing under the stage lights like some sort of punk god angel. Steve bit his lip, ran his tongue piercing over his teeth, and kept playing. 

The end of the set came along with a sense of relief roughly the size of a tsunami wave. He didn’t expect that anyone would write a review claiming it was the best performance of his life, but he didn’t let the band down.

They had a good minute to hydrate before Sharon came to lead them backstage for another fan meet and greet. Steve grabbed another beer for himself and one for Bucky.

“Good fucking idea,” Clint agreed, getting one too as they followed Sharon down the little hallway. “What a set, you guys. I think we killed it.”

Steve nodded, but didn’t trust his traitorous mouth to form words that wouldn’t betray him.

Thankfully, Scott was already talking. “Totally. Good energy. Tell me if I’m wrong, Bucky, but I thought I saw you singing a couple of lines to Steve. Testing out your future love ballad?”

Steve swallowed his sip of beer, and it was only luck that he didn’t choke on it. Bucky smiled back at Steve as he nodded.

“You got me. I wanted to test the waters.” 

“Steve, you’re being really fucking quiet,” Clint noted. “Bucky’s not making out with you, so what’s got your tongue?”

Though he had no clue what he was going to say, Steve started to speak. Thankfully, Sharon stopped at one of the doors and ushered them into the room before he had a chance to fuck himself over. 

Inside the room were a few comfortable couches and a table was set up with drinks and pizza. It smelled delicious, but Steve’s stomach was doing its best impression of a stone again.

“Oh good, you haven’t let them wander too far!” came a soft but confident voice.

“Of course, Wanda!” Sharon smiled as she crossed the room to give Wanda a hug. “Glad I get a chance to catch up for a few minutes with you tonight.”

Wanda had dark brown hair that tumbled past her shoulders, a knowing smile, and black nail polish that matched Bucky’s. “Let’s get you all situated. We sold five of these passes for a backstage hang out. You guys know the drill.”

Steve mentally crossed his fingers that none of them were adamant fans of his and Bucky’s relationship. Bucky already had a hand on the small of his back to lead him to one of the couches. He nudged Steve to sit down and then plopped himself on Steve’s lap. 

Bucky smelled amazing, all sweat and hair gel that reminded Steve of a forest. He automatically ran his hand through Bucky’s hair, tangling his fingers around a few strands. Bucky’s weight on his legs was a grounding presence that helped Steve unwind, his other hand moving on muscle  memory to wrap around Bucky’s waist.

“Ok, perfect,” Wanda said, her hand on the door. “I’ll be right back. You guys make yourself comfortable!”

“Very comfortable, thanks,” Bucky called as she left with Sharon.

“Another one down. Just two more concerts to finish out this tour.” Scott grabbed a plate and piled it high with hot pizza.  

Bucky shifted on Steve’s lap, sucking on Steve’s neck for a moment and grinning. Steve thought he could do this for three more concerts, but then Bucky put his hand on Steve’s thigh and squeezed.

Right, no, not a chance in hell. 

“And here we have it, Not Without You!” Wanda announced as she came back in the room with a handful of fans. 

Clint waved. “Hey, everyone! Come on in, eat some pizza. None of us bite.”

“You guys are amazing,” said one of the fans, a teenager with short wavy hair. “It was just great to see you on stage and then to see you again in person—I mean of course I saw you in person on stage but now you guys are just so, so close.” He smiled, rubbing a hand on the back of his head. “I’m Peter, by the way. Peter Parker.”

“Good to meet you, Peter,” Scott said, giving him a high five.

Peter grinned and looked at his hand like he couldn’t believe how lucky he was. He glanced around and grabbed a plate for pizza while another fan introduced himself as Matt and started chatting with Clint, asking him questions about his time in the circus. A third fan stood and nodded as he listened to Clint’s responses.

The last two fans made a beeline to Steve and Bucky, and Steve braced himself for questions about their relationship. To be fair, he did have Bucky on his lap.

“C’mon, sit down,” Bucky said, patting the cushion next to them. 

“Don’t need to ask twice. I’m Jessica,” said the first woman as she sat down on Steve’s right. 

“And I’m Misty,” said the other, sitting down on Steve’s left. Her jewel green shirt had long, gauzy sleeves. “You guys were really lovely onstage tonight.” She paused, and pushed up her sleeves, revealing a prosthetic hand.

“Oh.” Steve paused, realizing the conversation wasn’t going to be about their relationship at all. From the way Bucky shifted on Steve’s lap, he wasn’t sure how Bucky felt about it.

Thankfully, Bucky spoke a moment later. “Oh! That looks like Stark technology.”

Misty nodded. “I was glad to get a chance to meet you. I don’t want you to think you have to talk about what happened. I just wanted to...talk to someone who might really understand.”

Bucky nodded, shifting off of Steve’s lap so that he could sit closer to Misty, showing off his prosthetic. “So this was from an experimental program…”

“Must be interesting to be with someone like Bucky, yeah?”

Steve startled; he’d been listening so closely to Bucky talk. Jessica was smiling at him and Steve understood. “Are you hungry? Thirsty? Let’s get some pizza.”

They got up, giving Bucky and Misty a semblance of privacy to talk. Something tugged in Steve’s chest and pulled at his heart. He wanted to hear Bucky talk about himself, wanted to be privy to that sort of intimacy. For what might have been the millionth time, as Steve popped open the tops of two beers, he really wished it was different.

“Cheers!” Jessica said, tapping the neck of her bottle against his and tipping it back for a sip.

Steve put on his smile. “Thanks for coming to see us. I hope the show was ok.”

Jessica glanced over at the couch, where Bucky was letting Misty touch the finger joints of his prosthetic. “Honestly, I’ve been a fan since you guys put our your first EP. So this was a real treat. Don’t tell Misty though; I’ve been giving her a hard time about ‘dragging me out’ to meet Bucky.” 

Following her gaze, Steve couldn’t help but notice how bright Bucky looked as he talked with Misty. A flinch of what Steve didn’t want to define as jealousy pinged his heart. “I won’t say a word. Honestly, he looks thrilled. Usually our fans just ask about what it’s like for us to bang each other.” A dry chuckle that broke free as he realized he’d just mentioned what he was hoping to avoid.

“Well you do make it look like we’re all missing out on whatever you two have when you’re on stage,” Jessica said as they made their way over to where Clint and Scott were answering some of the many questions that Peter had.

“So is the composition primarily a team effort? Or do you guys have pretty defined roles? I’m just curious. You don’t have to answer! Oh my gosh, I sound like I’m trying to get you to let me know trade secrets. I promise I’m just curious!”

Clint patted the kid on the back. “I believe you. The secret is our fifth member of the band.” He leaned in, and Peter leaned closer. “Coffee.”

Peter blinked. “Oh, well, that does make sense that you might drink a lot of coffee. I mean I would have guessed alcohol.” He paused. “Or drugs. I mean, maybe. I don’t want to assume!”

Scott laughed. “Ok, look. To answer your original question. Or the most recent original question anyhow. Team effort. Definitely. We all contribute whatever we’re feeling and blend it together.”

“Kind of like a frappuccino?” Peter asked.

Clint shrugged. “Caffeine is caffeine, as long as it’s there.”

“Where you from, kid?” Steve cut in, even as Peter took another breath to ask another question. 

Peter changed tracks almost seamlessly. “Queens,” he answered.

“Nice.” Steve nodded, like he knew the direction to his childhood home from where they stood. “Brooklyn myself, you know.”

“Oh, that’s cool. Did you know—”

The rest of the night was refreshingly pleasant, as they talked with their fans and enjoyed food and drinks and downtime. Steve fought the urge to go check on Bucky. Everytime he looked across the room, he saw Bucky using both of his hands to gesture as he spoke. Bucky was shining in a way Steve didn’t often see, a way that Steve knew he wouldn’t be privy to.

Yeah, ok. He was definitely bordering on jealous.

As midnight approached, the energy shifted and conversations quieted down. Steve glanced at Bucky again. 

Someone tapped him on the shoulder, and Steve turned to see Jessica watching him.

“Ok,” she said, so quiet that he had to lean in to hear. “If I’m overstepping, please just tell me to stop. I know I’ve only just chatted with you for an hour here, but—I’m kind of getting the feeling that you like Bucky more than you let on with your ‘we’re just friends’ bit.”

Steve’s heart thudded so hard in his chest that he almost put a finger to his neck to check his pulse. He opened his mouth. He had to say something, to brush off her gentle accusation. But he couldn’t. There was something in the way she stared at him. He looked toward Bucky.

He didn’t really know Jessica; she could say something, spread rumors. But a soft smile spread across his face as the words tumbled out of his mouth. “Yeah, you know? You might be onto something.”

Jessica squealed, just a little. “I won’t say a word. I swear. I think you guys would make a wonderful couple for real. I can’t really say that. I don’t know you at all!”

Hoping he had judged her character well, Steve just nodded. Bucky didn’t feel the same way, he was sure of that. There just weren’t any signs, so he couldn’t bring it up yet. Definitely not on tour and maybe not ever.

Steve’s stomach turned over once, just enough to make him queasy at the thought. He shook his head, trying to brush the thought off like a dog shaking out its fur. “Shall we go see how they’re doing?”

They made their way back to the couch where Bucky was checking something on his phone.

“Yeah,” he said. “It went through, there’s your number. Seriously, text any time, ok?”

“Oooo,” Jessica teased as she put her hand on her friend’s shoulder. “Sounds serious.”

“Very.” Misty looked down at her phone. “Thanks.”

Steve fought the urge to plunk himself down in Bucky’s lap and lick him to establish that Bucky was, in fact, his. The tiny, rational part of his brain reminded him to calm down and instead, he wrapped what he hoped was an easy arm around Bucky’s shoulders. “Looks like you guys had a good conversation. I’m glad that this worked out so well!” 

When Bucky reached up and touched his arm with his prosthetic hand, happiness bloomed in his chest like a field of flowers. Steve wanted to pick those flowers and give them all to Bucky, but it didn’t matter, because Bucky didn’t want that. As the afterparty faded out, goodbyes and goodnights exchanged, Steve meditated on that thought.

 

*

 

The next concert was hell for Steve. He was completely lost in the lack of excitement. Desperate for the thrill of playing on stage, he faked his heart out to try to grab it; he worked the crowd, hit every note, danced like Clint’s drums reverberated through him. 

But when he looked at Bucky, he couldn’t keep up the charade. 

He put his hands on Bucky on stage and as the crowd’s applause finally wore down, he thanked every deity he knew of because tonight was their overnight drive. He wouldn’t have to make any excuses to avoid their after-show fuck. Packing up backstage next to him was hard enough; being naked together was sure to have Steve confessing everything.

Bucky pushed his hair out of his eyes and grinned at Steve. “Hope you sleep well in the van. We gotta be ready to celebrate the end of the tour tomorrow.” He ran a hand down Steve’s back, stopping just above the waistband of his pants.

A shiver danced down Steve’s spine, and he fought his urge to turn around and pull Bucky closer. He fought the urge to run away. “Of course. I’ve only got the best plans.”

Bucky grinned. “I’m not going to argue. I’m just going to remind you that you also really thought you could drive four hours straight without a bathroom break.”

Clint popped up from over where he’d been breaking down his drum kit. “Good one!”

“Very hilarious,” Steve conceded, crossing his arms over his chest and rolling his eyes. He clicked his tongue piercing against his teeth. “No one was harmed in my search for an appropriate spot to pee.”

Thankfully, Scott showed up then. “I’ve got my stuff up, anyone need some extra help?” he asked as he pushed through one of the curtains backstage.

“Steve does,” Clint responded, with a friendly thump to Steve’s back. 

Without breaking eye contact with Clint, Steve clicked the final latch in place on his guitar case. “I think I’m doing fine, thanks,” he said, completely deadpan, as he slid the case on his back.

“He’s got your there!” Scott said, grabbing one of Clint’s drums. “And it looks like you could use an extra hand.”

“Speaking of extra hands,” Clint added, “it looks like Steve and Bucky forgot how to use theirs. This is the most G-rated I’ve seen you two like....ever!”

Bucky’s shrug was almost immediate, as was Steve’s exaggerated yawn.

“Let me tell you something about being 24,” Steve said, drawing himself up to his full height and squaring his shoulders. He tried to shake off the hurt of Bucky’s shrug. “It’s a lot more exhausting than being 23.”

Clint choked on his laughter and nudged Scott, who nearly dropped the drum he was carrying to the van. “Ok. Us 27 year olds will just go set up your retirement housing for you.” 

Scrambling to keep his balance, Scott chuckled. “Maybe we need to get him a house with a lawn, so he can yell at the kids to get off of it.”

Even Steve bit back a smile as they loaded their equipment into the trailer behind their van. Scott, who’d slept all afternoon before their show, got into the driver’s seat and got them on the road. Sharon had apologized at least twice that their last show was 14 hours away, but at least it had sold out.

The monotonous black of the night dotted by highway lights should have lulled Steve to sleep. Instead, he found himself staring in the dark at Bucky’s sleeping form. Bucky’s hair was pulled back in his favorite traveling ponytail, and he had a soft blanket on his lap to combat Scott’s appreciation for the van’s air conditioner. Light flashed on his face, a rhythmic pattern highlighting his cheekbones every fifteen seconds.

He was beautiful, and Steve couldn’t tell him. He stretched out in his seat, trying yet again to get comfortable. Exhaustion flitted around him; his muscles insisted he had a well-earned reason to sleep, but his mind was running in circles, testing out again every possible path that a conversation about taking things further might go.

Steve didn’t want to put words in Bucky’s mouth; Bucky deserved to hear what he had to say and to be able to say what he wanted. Despite the ‘give no fucks’ attitude Steve wore, he cared too much to hear the anticipated no. 

Eyes closed, Steve slept in fits, waking with every unexpected lane change, every gas stop. It was sometime around four in the morning when, in the middle of a convenience store aisle of candy bars and lightbulbs that Steve realized it didn’t matter what Bucky said in his theoretical conversations. Yes or no, Steve just wasn’t the right fit for the band anymore.

He’d said he wouldn’t do anything to mess up the band. That meant the band deserved to have a guitarist who wasn’t … Steve.

The clarity of his conclusion was a relief, but when he climbed back into the van and curled up against his pillow, he still couldn’t seem to sleep.

 

*

 

Steve splashed water on his face and called it good enough for a post-van refresh. He needed the extra time to shape his hair into something resembling a mohawk, and currently? It was not behaving. The top part of his hair had bent around the pillow, leaving a wave that might have been stylish, if that’s what he was going for. Which it wasn’t.

“Need some gel?” Bucky asked over the sound of Steve’s sigh, nudging over his jar. “Bonus. You’ll get to smell me all night long.”

“I get to do that regardless.” Steve’s reply was automatic, out of his mouth before he even had a chance to regret it. 

He didn’t even really regret it. He just needed Bucky to say he loved him. Was that so much to ask?

Bucky looked in the mirror, patting his hair in place and grimacing at his reflection. Steve met his eyes in the glass and had to look away. He checked his own image, scooped up a bit of the gel, and got to work on the mess he was calling his hair. With a bit of smoothing and a lot of irritation, Steve was able to get the very top spiked and looking good.

“Want a hand?” If Bucky noticed how fast Steve had looked away, he didn’t seem to show it. He just got some more gel and worked it into the bottom of Steve’s hair. 

He stood closer than necessary, his hips gently pressed against Steve’s.

“You didn’t give me a chance to say no,” Steve teased. 

He wiggled back against Bucky, just a bit of a nudge. It was so easy to fall into their well-worn patterns, and Steve couldn’t deny the energy that wrapped around them and wove itself between them when they touched. 

“Guess I didn’t.” With a pat of his hand on Steve’s bottom, Bucky smiled at Steve in the mirror. “Now that’s looking good. You ready to go out there and own this place?”

Clint poked his head into the small backstage dressing room. “It’s time! Final concert!”

His words slammed into Steve’s stomach as surely as if he’d shot him with an arrow. It wouldn’t just be the final concert of the tour. It’d be Steve’s final concert, and no one knew but him.

If he thought that the past couple of concerts had been hard to play, this one was stifling. The stage lights were too bright, burning into his skin like all-seeing eyes. The air conditioning had to be broken; there was no way Steve was already sweating this much when they were just a couple of songs in.

He owed it to Clint, to Scott, and especially to Bucky to suck it up and make it work one last time. Steve was pretty sure he was straight up sweating so much that the gel in his mohawk was breaking down. Either way, the smell of pine forest assaulted his nose, a constant reminder of Bucky, on top of the fact that Bucky was right there next to him, touching the base of his spine, teasing the shell of his ear between his spiked piercings. 

Steve played the hell out of his guitar and hoped he didn’t spill his soul out on stage. Every song they finished was a jab reminding him of the finality of his decision, an elaborate nail in his self-made coffin.

Clint and Scott would make it work. They were amazing songwriters as well as amazing musicians. Steve shifted his fingers along his fretboard and did his best not to sigh in the middle of their set. He was just a guitarist shuffling through three different chords; he made it sound good, but there were lots of people who could replace him.

And Bucky… Bucky would find someone to replace him too. And then Bucky could sing a love ballad to whoever that was, and Steve would just… hide under a rock. Run away to the ocean or maybe find a nice cave on the other side of the world.

The lights flashed across the stage, shining blue and purple across Steve’s guitar, but the colors seemed dull. If he tried to focus on them, tension built in his temples. His skin crawled from the heat of the stage, and no matter how much water he drank between songs, he couldn’t shake the sensation.

As Clint finished up their last song with a flourish, an extended bit of a drum solo that had his fans cheering their lungs out, Bucky sidled up to Steve, put an arm around his waist and whispered, “Is something wrong?”

If Steve thought it was warm before, he was now in hell. Bucky  _ knew _ something was wrong. Steve took a deep breath, tried to steady his smile, and mumbled something about how, “everything’s fine, I just really need some water,” and bolted off the stage.

He’d made it to their last song; he hadn’t let them down. That was his mantra as Steve grabbed the case for his guitar and packed up backstage with shaking hands. Heart racing, he looked toward the stage; his luck had held that Bucky hadn’t come looking for him yet. Everything around him seemed blurred at the edges as he tried to focus on what he was doing. 

Running away.

He scrawled a note on paper, pouring out his heart, but guarding the fiery part that cared for Bucky, the part of his heart that told him to  _ go back on stage, you moron.  _ Talk _ to Bucky _ . He couldn’t. He swallowed back the bile that threatened to rise, his hands all pins and needles as he tried to get enough air when he breathed.

The crowd was still cheering; no one knew what was happening yet. With a final glance at the dressing room, Steve put the note under the bottle of Bucky’s hair gel, and fled, running backstage without looking back.

When he got outside, the air was stiff and still, as though judging him and finding him lacking. Steve kept going, determined to be far enough away that his bandmates wouldn’t see him calling a cab to the hotel. As he got into the taxi, a single breeze floated through the air, and Steve realized all he could smell was Bucky’s hair gel.


	5. Chapter 5

#  5

“You know what, Steve, you’re an idiot.” 

Steve looked up to see Natasha standing in the door frame of her guest room where Steve had set up camp on the twin bed. Her red hair was twisted up in a beautiful chignon and she had on her dance sweats. 

“So you’ve told me. About ten hundred times.” His face burning, Steve hung his head. She wasn’t wrong.

“Nat, are you being hard on Steve again?” Sam popped up behind Natasha in the doorway, still in his workout clothes from his morning run. “Be sweet to our misguided little punk rock idiot.”

Steve rolled his eyes, but Sam wasn’t wrong either.

“Look, Steve, I don’t mind you staying with us,” Natasha said. “But I think you need to put a plan in place. Either you’re going back and talking to the supposed love of your life, or you figure out what’s next.” 

Natasha’s smile was soft, but her eyes pierced through to the core of his heart. Steve was sure she saw the flowers that blossomed there whenever he thought of Bucky.

“You get to the studio, babe, and I’ll talk to the kid.” Sam pressed a kiss to Natasha’s cheek. “Again.”

Natasha wrapped her arms around Sam for a moment. “Sounds like a plan.”

“I’m not a kid,” Steve muttered, averting his eyes from their affection, like it might physically harm him to see two people in love when all he wanted to do was sleep and pretend like this whole “leaving the band” thing was a nightmare. “Same goddamned age as you two.”

Natasha headed down the hallway, the front door opening and closing a few moments later, and Sam glanced around the room. “Steve. You didn’t want to wash your hair for a week because it smelled like him. That’s puppy love, and while you might not agree with me now, you know it.”

Steve automatically ran his hands through his clean hair. No gel, just a flop of hair that he pushed to the side. “Maybe.” 

Sam fixed him with a look. “Come on. Let’s make some breakfast.”

Whisking a bowl of eggs was a good, mechanical distraction from his thoughts. The whites and yolks spun together into a smooth pale yellow. Except for the whisk against the bowl and the crackle of bacon on the stovetop by Sam, the kitchen was silent. After a minute, Sam went over to the radio and flipped it on.

“...back to Breakfast with Bruce. My guests today are Not Without You, welcome back to the studio…”

Sam went to turn off the radio and Steve almost shouted, “No!”

Clint’s voice played in the background, “so glad to be back,” while Sam raised an eyebrow. 

“You really want to hear this?” Sam asked while his bacon sizzled on the pan, temporarily forgotten.

Steve tried to talk, but his voice had disappeared. He nodded as a wave of nausea threatened. How would Bucky sound? Steve couldn’t bear to hear him upset, but if he sounded fine… that would be worse.

“...of course we want to extend our welcome to your newest member, Thor Odinson…” Bruce continued.

Steve stopped whisking the eggs and his heart dropped down to the floor. Of course they’d replaced him already; they had to. They’d already dropped the first single for their upcoming album; they had to keep making music. It still left him feeling exposed and naked.

“Steve had some family matters to attend to,” Scott’s voice came over the air. “We wish him the best.”

“Family issues, hm?” Sam’s stare burned a hole through Steve. “Don’t tell me you lied to—”

“No,” Steve said, gaping at the radio. “I didn’t. I wrote a note to Bucky and, and…” He swallowed, remembering the words he had scrawled. “He’s covering for me.” Eggs and bacon thoroughly forgotten, he sat down on one of the wooden kitchen chairs. “I left him and he’s covering for me, Sam. What the fuck?”

The smell of about to be burned bacon spurred Sam into action. He grabbed the pieces off the pan and tossed them onto a waiting plate. He didn’t replace the bacon in the pan, just turned back to Steve, spatula still in hand. “It almost sounds like maybe he cares about you.”

Steve couldn’t form words. In the silence that wafted into the kitchen, the radio seemed unusually loud. 

“Before we’ll play their next single, let’s take a few callers,” Bruce said.

“Sit back down,” Sam ordered before Steve could even stand up to grab his phone.

His phone was too far away. They already had callers. “I just—” Steve winced at the anger in his voice. 

“Calling in and apologizing on a radio show is something that happens in movies, Steve. This isn’t a movie.” Content that Steve wasn’t about dash over to a phone, Sam laid another round of bacon in the pan. “You need to talk to Bucky, probably in person,  _ if _ he’s willing.”

“He hasn’t texted or tried to call, but he covered for me…” Steve’s emotions were cycling too fast. He put his head on the table. “He’d be willing to talk, right?”

“You haven’t tried texting or calling him either, have you? You know I don’t have that answer,” Sam chided, turning the bacon. “Now let’s get those eggs going, alright?”

A caller on the radio show thanked Bruce for taking her call and then said Bucky’s name, and Steve, who had gotten up to tend to the bowl of eggs again, froze as he recognized Misty’s voice. 

“Yeah, uh, I was just calling to ask how you’re doing with Steve gone? I know you always said you guys were just friends, but, uh, you seemed close?” 

“Hey, thanks.” Bucky’s voice came through the radio and Steve was powerless to do anything except listen. “It’s been tough, yeah. I hope everything works out.”

It was a diplomatic answer. Steve didn’t know how much was true and how much was just for the benefit of the radio show. Bucky spent a few more moments asking Misty how she was doing before her call was over and the rest of the band handled the other calls. 

“Maybe… he doesn’t hate me?” Steve’s stomach hurt, an ache like a giant bubble settling into his heart.

“Don’t look at me,” Sam said. “There’s only one guy out there who can tell you, and I’m going to be real. You might have burned that chance when you left without giving him a choice.”

Steve nodded, miserable. He wanted to go back into the guest room, wrap himself up in blankets, and go back to sleep. Instead, he finally took the bowl of eggs to the stove and poured them into a pan, pushing them around with a spatula while Sam finished frying the last of the bacon. He couldn’t bear the thought of texting or calling and having Bucky ignore him or, worse, answer and ask him not to call again.

They made plates and sat down to eat when the radio started to play the new single. Bucky’s voice came across in the first line, and Steve jumped up. It was like an arrow to the heart, and he reached out to change the station, but his hand froze. He didn’t want to hear, yet he couldn’t not listen.

Still at the table, Sam ate a piece of crisp bacon. “ You didn’t text him. That doesn’t mean you have to torture yourself over it.”

Steve clicked his tongue piercing against his teeth. He put his fingers on his dial, told himself he was going to change the station, and listened to the entire song standing there, unmoving.

When Sam finished his plate, he looked over at Steve at the radio. “I’ve got to get going. It’s about twenty minutes to the VA. You going to be ok?” He brought his dishes to the sink, rinsing them off.

Steve nodded. “Thanks for letting me crash here. Guess I’ll look at apartments again today. I just…”   


“Yeah, I know. You don’t know where you want to stay.”

Home would have been with the band, and he would have kept his old apartment and renewed the lease. But now? 

Steve found himself browsing pages and pages of apartments, looking at cities around the state, after Sam headed out to work. Nothing stood out, nothing made him think ‘this is home.’ The walls in Sam and Nat’s place were covered in pictures; their wedding, artwork Sam had done in college, beautiful stills of Natasha in her performances. It was their home, and they’d opened it up to him, but it wasn’t his.

Steve started humming, trying the tune a few times before realizing he was singing their new single. Instantly, he chided himself. That song wasn’t his anymore. Then he sat down, opened a new tab on his laptop and put the song on repeat. Hearing Bucky’s voice turned his stomach, had even his toes weighed down with dread. But it was Bucky’s voice, and Steve missed it.

With the song playing, Steve wrapped himself up in blankets and fell into a drifting half-sleep. His dreams were barely formed messes where he knew he had a concert to play and couldn’t find his guitar anywhere. He knew it was somewhere backstage, but every door he opened led to storage closets with old, broken parts and dusty pages of handwritten songs. Bucky called to him, and he couldn’t find him either.

Steve woke up tangled in the sheet and sweating. The damn song was still playing, and he’d missed three texts from Sam and Nat checking in on him. Steve pushed his tangled mess of hair out of his eyes, and texted each of them back, assuring them he was fine. 

Whatever fine meant.

He turned off the song and sat on the tangle of soft blankets, the silence weaving doubt and guilt around him. 

 

*

 

“Alright, I’ve got some hair gel.” Natasha reappeared in the doorframe that evening as if she hadn’t left and spent the day at the studio. “Let’s get you done up and go out to dinner.”

Steve stared up at her, his eyes red from crying that he didn’t want to admit had taken up a good part of his afternoon. “I’m not hungry. Had a big breakfast.”

Natasha shook her head and advanced, slowly. “You can get a glass of water if you want. We’re just getting you a change of scenery, a gentle reminder that there’s still a world out there.” She set the hair gel down on the bedside table and sat down next to Steve. “Look. If he’d been the one to break up with you, you’d get another week of moping. But you made this decision.”

“It seemed like the right choice,” Steve muttered. “But I just don’t know anymore.”

“So let’s go out, breathe some fresh air, see how you’re feeling.” She unscrewed the top of the gel and scooped out a good amount. “May I?”

Steve scooted closer. “Don’t mess it up,” he teased. 

“Look. When you get tired of the same old style, let me know.” Natasha smoothed the gel through Steve’s hair, pulling it up into spikes. “I’ve got plenty of ideas for when you’re interested.”

“I’ll have you know—” Steve started and then stopped. It hadn’t been that long since Bucky had been the one running his fingers through Steve’s hair and spiking the edges. 

If Natasha noticed his pause, she didn’t comment. Scooping out just a bit more gel, she made a few finishing touches before standing up and taking a step back to decide if she was content. She nodded.

“What are you in the mood to eat?” she asked, pulling out her phone. “Sam can meet us there.”

Steve shook his head. His spiked hair moved with his head; he’d gotten used to the soft flop of his unstyled hair, and the difference put a tiny, but real, smile on his face. “Still not that hungry. But you pick what you want and I’ll go. No promises that I won’t just mope the entire time, though.”

“Moping in public is the next step in your journey.”

They ended up at a tiny Mexican restaurant, hidden away in the middle of the town. Steve appreciated Natasha’s attention to detail; she got him out of the house while ensuring the smallest number of potential interactions with others. And, judging from the Spanish radio station playing, no chance of hearing the new single he’d already listened to fifty times.

“I need to talk to Bucky, you guys,” Steve admitted over his single taco. “More like, I think I need to listen to him. If he’ll even talk to me.” He sipped at a margarita, the tequila zeroing in on his lack of lunch and tiny dinner. 

“Yeah, well, you were kind of an idiot.” Sam shrugged as he ate. “But at least you’re in the right mindset now.”

Natasha nodded. “We’re agreed then? You’re going to give him a chance to talk to you. No boomboxes outside of his window at three in the morning?”

“I’ll call him tomorrow.” Steve paused and looked at his phone as though he expected to see Bucky’s name in his notifications.

Somehow, Sam seemed to read his mind. “Still not living in a movie, Steve. He’s not about to just drop into your lap for convenience.”

Steve grumbled. “It’d be nice,” he said, looking around the room. Movie logic dictated that Bucky had to be in one of the tiny booths, enjoying a meal with the band.

Bucky was, of course, nowhere to be seen.

The music from the radio station switched to commercials, and Steve marveled at the fact that all sales pitches sounded the same, even in a different language. He looked at his phone again. Still no messages from Bucky, but he guessed that was fair. 

“I don’t know if I’d even talk to myself after the shit I pulled.” The words tumbled out of Steve’s mouth, and he frowned. “Oh my god. I don’t think I’d even return my own calls.” He looked from Natasha to Sam. “You guys. He’s not going to return my call.”

Natasha handed him a cup of water. “Drink this. Text him tomorrow. For what it’s worth, I wouldn’t let you text him if you didn’t realize that first.”

Steve’s stomach turned sour again. Even the sip of water sat heavily. He sighed. And when they got home that night, he turned on the song again and listened to Bucky’s voice as he tried to fall asleep.

It was hours before he finally drifted off to sleep long enough for pieces of dreams to assault him. Images of Bucky danced behind his eyes; Bucky tossing back his hair right before they fucked. Bucky stalking across the stage toward him, a wonderful glint in his eyes. Bucky’s face when he read the note Steve left him.

Bucky’s face when he sang a love ballad they never wrote together.

Steve’s phone read 3:03 when he woke up, his mind racing. He sat up and blinked sleep out of his eyes. The room was dark, save for the glow of his phone and the sliver of moon peeking through the curtains. For the first time in weeks, Steve got out of the bed and picked up his guitar that he’d stashed at the end of the bed. 

He strummed a few notes to check the tuning, and, once he was satisfied, tried a chord. The soft, unamplified sound dissipated into the night. He played the chord again, shifted his fingers down the fretboard and smiled. It wasn’t like he was going to forget how to play in three weeks, but it was very satisfying to replicate the guitar refrain from the single he’d been listening to all day.

On the third run through, he experimented with changing one of the chords to a minor, playing with just a bit of sadness running through the song. It stuck out, too much of a change too fast. He shifted another chord. And then another. In the otherwise quiet moonlight, a gentle energy began to rise as he reworked the guitar line into something like longing. 

Steve bobbed his head, counted the beats as he poured every ounce of uncertainty and frustration into an apology of a song. He was still working on it two hours later, when Natasha came and knocked on his door.

“You doing ok?” She took in the sight of Steve, shirtless and his guitar strap around his neck, the pieces of paper he’d scattered around with notes for a possible drumbeat, keyboard, a few attempts at some lyrics.

He knew none of it would come together without his bandmates; he was proud of the guitar part, but he needed their expertise to bring everything else together. A moment later, Natasha cleared her throat, and Steve looked up at her. “Right. Ok. I’m fine.”

“Just… staying up all night to play music?”

Steve waved off the concern. “No, it’s fine. I slept most of the day, really.”

“When I go to the studio, are you going to do anything stupid?”

Before Steve could answer, Sam showed up ready for his run. “What she said. I should make you come with me to wear out whatever burst of energy you found.”

Steve looked around the room again, at the notes he’d made. “I promise it only looks like I’m a bit crazy right now. Bucky and I…” he trailed off. How many nights had he stayed up late with Bucky, the two of them riffing back and forth to build a song together? The familiar ache settled in his heart. “I was going to go by the studio today and see if he’d talk to me.”

“That’s like a two hour drive.” Natasha reached for a piece of paper Steve had scribbled on, waiting for his nod before grabbing it.

Steve waved off that concern too. “I’ve driven further on less sleep.”

“Still doesn’t make me feel comfortable giving you the keys to my car,” Natasha retorted, an automatic response. She was reading the lyrics Steve had rushed to put on paper. 

The lines were raw and open. Clint and Bucky always tackled the final edits to smooth Steve’s ideas out.

“I was going to take the bus, anyhow.” Steve gathered up the other pages. “I promised no boomboxes in the middle of the night. I didn’t agree to ‘no love ballads that I wrote in the middle of the night.’”

“Play it again?” Natasha asked. 

Her stare pierced through his skin; she saw his broken heart. Steve put the pile of papers on the bedside table and sat down on the bed with his guitar. He let out his breath in a cascade of notes. Without an amp, the sound didn’t fill the space the same way, but the song sang its story. Next to Natasha, Sam nodded his head to the beat.

When Steve played the last chord, it hung in the air for a moment before disappearing into silence. He hesitated to look up and saw Sam and Natasha smiling. 

“That was really beautiful,” Natasha said. “What do you think Sam? Can he take the car?”

Sam rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “Yeah. I’ll leave my keys. Steve, you sure you don’t want to go on a run with me first?”

“I’ll save the running for the professionals. And, just, thanks, you guys,” Steve said, jumping up from the bed. He tossed his guitar—gently—on the blankets, and ran to crush them in a big, messy hug. 

“I know I’ve been harping on this, but… remember that Bucky’s going to feel anything from excitement to anger to see you and you need to respect that, ok?” Sam sighed faded into a grin. “I’m biased, though. I hope he gives you a chance.”

“Best of luck, Steve.” Natasha nodded to the kitchen. “Breakfast first though.” She winked at Sam. “We’ll make sure to save you leftovers. Enjoy your run.”


	6. Chapter 6

#  6

 

Two hours of driving was plenty of time for Steve to lose his nerve, but he kept his grip tight on the steering wheel. Sam and Nat’s tiny little Miata was as different a driving experience from the van as he could imagine, and that helped keep his focus on the road. 

One hundred twenty minutes. It still left a lot of time for his mind to wander. What if the band changed their studio date for some reason? What if this Thor Odinson wasn’t available to record today and the band just wasn’t there? It wasn’t like Steve could just drop a text to Clint or Scott. 

Steve zipped around a slow moving semi truck. The Miata’s odometer was at 75 miles per hour and so was Steve’s brain. Showing up without giving Bucky any notice was probably also rude and maybe he should just… text him. Call him. Send him a carrier pigeon or something, anything.

His stomach danced. He hadn’t been this nervous the first time they’d played in front of an audience. Like every other thought, he tamped it down and kept driving. It was both forever and way too soon when he pulled up to the recording studio.

The band’s van and trailer was parked along the side. Steve’s legs might as well have been lead, but somehow he pulled his foot off the brake and got out of the car.

He took his heavy feet and dragged them to the door of the studio, his hands ice cold. The guitar case on his back was his only armor. What was his plan, anyhow? Just storm the proverbial castle and see if Bucky would talk to him? He wanted that damned boombox after all.

Then again, leaving the band was a gesture grand enough to last him several lifetimes.

Steve pushed open the door to the studio like he expected his ex-bandmates to be in the front lounge shooting the shit before they moved into the recording room. There was no one in the lounge, so he took a deep breath and pressed on, moving down the short hallway to the control room. 

His damned hand trembled when he knocked on the door. A few moments later, Maria Hill stuck her head out, blinking twice when she saw him standing there. Her headphones were around her neck and her dark clothing was just like when he’d seen her last. 

When he’d been part of the band.

“Rogers,” she said in lieu of a greeting. Her hands were already on her hips as she most likely was deciding whether to politely or forcefully ask him to leave.

“Hey Maria.” Steve gave a little wave as if he was just running late. “Did they just get started?”

She shook her head. “Don’t play around. Are you supposed to be here or do I need to remind you where the door is?”

“I’m not here to start anything, promise.” Steve put his hands up and gave his most innocent smile. 

It probably wasn’t that innocent. Maria pursed her lips as she studied him. “They’ve been recording for awhile now. About to take a break. If you want to wait in the lounge, be my guest.”

Steve nodded. He backed away when they heard the door to the recording room open.

“Steve?”

Bucky’s voice wavered, tinged with concern and doubt, and Steve’s heart thudded to a stop. He whirled around to see Bucky’s fist flying at his face, and only instinct got his arm up in time. 

Steve grunted at the impact.  “I deserved that.”

“You sure as fuck did,” Bucky said. Despite the strong words, his tone was decidedly neutral, and the sour nausea began to rise in Steve’s stomach.

Maria was one step away from them, ready to intervene. Scott and Clint were openly staring from the recording room. Steve took a step back, trying to downplay his level of threat. His forearm throbbed. 

“If…” A flash of anguish washed over Steve, and he tried to remember why he thought this was a good idea. Everyone just kept staring at him, waiting for him to say something that could somehow make up for the fact that he fucked up. “I’m sorry. Sorry barely scratches the surface. I wanted to talk to you. If you’ll let me.”

And then he waited, forced himself to make eye contact with Bucky. Years of performing on stage gave him the ability to hold back the nerves long enough to pretend like he wasn’t completely dying inside waiting for Bucky’s answer.

The moment stretched out as Steve regarded Bucky. Bucky was just as fucking beautiful as ever, his hair slicked back with gel, his eyes bright and full of anger. He’d painted his nails black at least a week ago, judging by the chipped edges, and he’d rolled up the sleeves to his black t-shirt.

Steve was struck by a sudden urge to throw himself at Bucky’s feet and beg forgiveness, but he waited for Bucky to tell him what he wanted first. The moment kept stretching until he couldn’t stare into Bucky’s steel blue eyes any longer. He hung his head, and he waited.

“Don’t know that there’s much to talk about,” Bucky said, sharper than any knife. He hadn’t moved. 

No one had moved.

Steve nodded. “Yeah. No. You’re… I just needed to say I was sorry and, yeah. I’m sorry.” He turned, ready to flee. Again.

“For fuck’s sake, Steve.” Bucky’s voice cut through the blur of the waiting room. “You can’t just show up out of nowhere, then leave again. Sit down.”

The lounge was really blurry. Steve wiped at his eyes, bringing everything back into focus. Bucky must have waved the others off, because Steve didn’t see them anywhere. Guilt settled into his chest yet again; studio time wasn’t cheap.

“I was about to take a break while she got tracks from Clint and Scott anyhow.” Bucky read Steve’s mind, and Steve’s heart broke a little more. 

Why had he thrown this away?

The black couch was firm, unyielding, just like Bucky. Bucky sat in the matching armchair across the room and studied Steve. Steve did his best not to squirm. Words pressed up against his tongue, and he bit them back. 

“You really couldn’t just talk to me?” Bucky finally asked. He stared Steve down. “You claimed to be in love with me, but you couldn’t just sit down and fucking ask me how I felt?”

Steve was suddenly positive the air around them had evaporated. His ears rang, and he barely managed to get the words out. “I was so afraid you wouldn’t feel the same, and it—it seemed easier to leave. To not hear your rejection.”

“You’re an idiot,” Bucky said, almost fondly, and a thin trickle of oxygen seemed to come back into the room.

“If I could go back and change what I did, I would. In a heartbeat.” Steve managed to keep himself from getting down on his knees and begging forgiveness, though he was ready to prostrate himself in a heartbeat if Bucky asked him to.

“But you can’t.” Bucky got up from the armchair, took a few steps towards Steve. “It’s funny, you know.”

“I’m not laughing,” Steve managed. 

Bucky took another step closer. “I’d noticed you were acting odd in Ohio. I kind of wrote it off. Thought you were just ready to get a break from touring.”

Steve couldn’t have taken his eyes off of Bucky even if the world had ended. Bucky was just one breath away from him. Longing echoed in every one of Steve’s limbs, reaching down right into his fingertips, spread into his toes. “I kept looking for a sign that you were looking for something more with me,” Steve whispered.

“And I was so worried about you,” Bucky continued, inches away from Steve, “because I thought you’d found out I was falling for you.”

Steve cocked his head. His ears were still ringing. He couldn’t believe the words he thought he was hearing. Steve breathed in, the smell of pine forest rushing around him. Bucky was so close, he could see the flecks of green in his eyes.

“You. You, too?” A cautious relief built behind Steve’s heart, but he didn’t dare release it. Not yet.

Bucky breathed out, the sound traveling down Steve’s spine. “Yes, you goddamn punk.” He backed out of Steve’s personal space and sat down on the hard couch next to him. “Me too.”

“You don’t have to be such a jerk about it!” Steve exclaimed, his head spinning with questions and worries and concerns, but his heart slowly warming in careful joy. “What do we do now?”

“Well, I had kind of hoped you’d kiss me like we were in a movie,” Bucky said, kicking his booted feet up on a black foot rest. “Seems we’ve moved past that moment, though--”

Steve all but tackled Bucky, straddling his lap and leaning in, pressing their lips together. Relief flooded down to his feet when Bucky kissed back. And then his feet froze when he remembered that the band had replaced him. Steve swallowed and pulled back from Bucky.

“You guys have Thor now, though.” Steve stood up and took a step back. His perfect ending was crumbling around him and all he could hear was Sam telling him he wasn’t in a movie. 

Bucky tilted his head to look up at Steve with his gorgeous eyes through dark eyelashes. “I don’t want to fuck Thor.” He paused, chewing his lower lip thoughtfully. “I mean, I wouldn’t say  _ no _ , but he has nothing to do with  _ us. _ ”

“But everything to do with the band.” Steve stared down the hallway to the recording room. His guitar case was a sudden rock on his back, his bad decisions weighing him down.

“We can all agree it wasn’t your smartest move.” Bucky stood with a shrug. “But I’ll suggest a band meeting. If you promise to tell them the truth.”

The black furniture in the lounge was suddenly the only thing Steve could look at. “Yeah. If my word means anything to them.”

Bucky’s laugh was gentler than Steve deserved. “You’d think by now you’d understand the importance of letting other people decide their own opinions, yeah?” 

“Alright, lovebirds,” Clint’s voice came down the hall. “Break’s over. Please pleasantly surprise me by not being naked.” 

“Completely clothed, Dad, thanks for coming to check on us,” Bucky lilted. “By the way, Steve—this is Thor. Thor, Steve.”

Thor was a few inches taller than Steve, a not unimpressive feat. His long blonde hair had a bit of a hippy vibe to it, but the metal studs in his eyebrows, ears, and lip suggested otherwise. When he spoke, his lovely accent took Steve by surprise. “It’s my pleasure to meet you, Steve. I have heard much about your prowess at the guitar… and in our singer’s bed.” He winked.

“Clint, do you ever get the feeling that they’re leaving us out?” Scott stage whispered, with a smile and a pointed stare at Bucky. To Steve, he added, “Glad to see you sorted everything out.”

“Can we agree you’ll never be a fucking moron like that again?” Clint asked, waving everyone into the recording room. “It’ll make everything so much easier.”

“Everything?” Steve stood his ground in the hallway, trying to process what Clint was suggesting.

“Yes, everything. Like getting you into the studio, so we can finish recording and not just keep standing around here.” Clint fixed Steve with a stare. “Bucky told us everything, down to the fact that you stuck around for the rest of our tour in an attempt to ‘not hurt the band.’ Dude. If you can’t be open with us, then who can you trust?”

“I was overwhelmed and made a batshit crazy decision,” Steve admitted. “I learned my fucking lesson.”

“It was pretty spectacular even by your standards.” Scott pointed to where Maria was staring at them from the control room. “But Clint is right. Let’s get in the studio. Maybe finish this touchy-feely stuff after we’re done? Over pizza?”

“Steve’s paying,” Clint said, and the matter was settled.

 

*

 

Band practice was a little different. For the album they recorded Steve and Thor in sync on the guitar tracks, but when they got into their practice space, it became a fun puzzle of fitting Steve and Thor together to enhance their songs. 

"I'm going to rewrite this bridge," Clint declared after listening to Steve and Thor have a friendly battle of the guitars.

"We're going to have to re-record the album at this rate," Scott said. He hummed a few bars, played a note on his keyboard, and nodded. "I think it'll be worth it."

"And what about our love ballad?" Clint leveled a pointed stare at Steve and Bucky. 

All eyes were on Steve, and he grinned and patted his guitar case, where he'd tucked the pages of notes he'd made. "I've actually got a few ideas, but I want to run them by you first, Bucky."

"Can't tell if that's a promise or a threat," Clint said. "All I care about is that you have something ready for us to work on by Friday."

Steve met Bucky's eyes. The expectant smirk on Bucky's lips was just what he hoped to see.

"It's a date," Bucky said, and Steve's heart beat faster.

 

*

 

That evening, Steve considered slicking back his hair, thought about putting on a suit he didn't own, and then laughed at his reflection in the mirror. He was about to trip over his feet at the thought of dating Bucky.

Bending him over and giving it to him hard? No problem.

Sharing a tenderly written song and lovestruck guitar line with him? Steve’s heart fluttered.

Well, it was a good thing Steve didn't give a fuck what anyone thought of his songwriting skills.

Except for Bucky, of course.

He looked over his reflection once more, checked the backs of his piercings, and grimaced at himself. 

No one could take him back to feeling like a 16 year old kid with his first crush faster than Bucky.

Steve's reflected grimace morphed into a smile. He grabbed his guitar case and headed for Bucky's apartment. His stomach swooped with anticipation as he walked. They'd talked about some of their feelings for each other over the past few days, but they hadn't gotten physical yet, nothing beyond a few sweet, short kisses. 

Even those kisses had seared Steve's skin with their intensity. Every touch Bucky had stolen during practice was burned onto his body.

Steve was ready to vibrate out of his skin by the time he reached out to knock on Bucky's door. And when Bucky answered, wearing black jeans and a soft red shirt, Steve was ready to throw his guitar to the side so they could fall into their well-tuned fucking.

Bucky leaned in and kissed Steve. How could one kiss could be so soft and so overwhelming? Steve threaded fingers through Bucky's hair. They would have made out on the doorstep for an hour if Bucky hadn't put his hands around Steve's waist and pulled him in.

"Good date," Steve said, and he had to laugh, both at his bad joke and his realization that he'd never been in Bucky's new apartment before. "You got this place while we were on tour?"

"Yup. C'mon, I'll show you the important parts." 

"I'm just going to follow your ass, so…" Steve reached out and smacked Bucky's bottom. 

Bucky laughed. He waved Steve over to the short hallway. "Yeah, ok. I thought we were in love and you were going to undress me all tenderly and shit."

Steve's face heated at the thought as though somehow undressing Bucky slowly was dirtier than everything they'd done in hotel rooms. He studied Bucky and imagined lifting Bucky's shirt inch by inch, taking time to enjoy every moment.

"I'm going to undress you real slow," Steve promised as Bucky brought him into the large bedroom. "Gonna touch you so slow you're going to be begging me to get you off, and I'm just going to keep enjoying driving you crazy."

Bucky's eyes were dark with desire as he helped Steve shrug his guitar case to the ground. "Sure, Steve. But first you're going to sing me a goddamn love song."

Steve looked around. The room was covered in posters for all of Bucky's favorite bands. His bed was off to one side of the room, the comforter in a pile. A desk along the back wall held a computer, microphones, and two beers.

"I'm only singing part of it. Mostly because I can't write a song for shit. You guys have to take these and figure it out." Steve opened his guitar case and dumped out the notes before unpacking the guitar.

Popping off the top of a beer, Bucky handed it to Steve. "To the start of your shitty new song, then." He grabbed the second beer and drank to his toast, lips wrapped around the bottle and the paler skin of his throat exposed as he tipped his head back. 

Steve took a sip of his beer and managed to not toss it aside to suck at the soft skin Bucky was so thoughtfully presenting. There were a couple of tall stools with firm cushions in the room, and he perched on one, guitar in hand. He plucked a few notes to check his tuning. 

The evening sunset filtered golden red across his guitar as Steve played. His first few notes were tentative, softer. He wasn't much of a singer, but he took a deep breath, and gamely sang potential lyrics.

Bucky raised an eyebrow partway through, and Steve stopped. "You think it sucks, don't you?"

Shaking his head, Bucky grabbed one of the pages of notes and lyrics. He sat down on his bed to read it. "I think you were holding out on us! I mean Clint'll spruce it up, but the idea is there."

"Not holding out on you." Steve looked down at his guitar. He couldn't have met Bucky's eyes if he wanted to. "Just didn't have the inspiration until now."

"That's pretty sappy, yeah." Bucky laughed, but it was after a pause. "You really didn't notice how I was acting?"

Steve shook his head. Shrugged. "Too focused on how I felt about you. But I am glad to hear I'm not the only idiot in our equation."

"Going all physicist on me now?" Bucky matched Steve's exaggerated shrug. "Guess it makes sense. Gotta balance the equation with idiots on both sides."

A laugh worked its way up. Steve couldn't help it. Bucky grinned and patted the bed.

"What do you think, Steve? You ready to take off my clothes all slow and sexy like?"

It was a challenge, and Steve Rogers didn't back down from a challenge. He didn't quite fling his guitar onto the desk; he took all of three seconds to ensure its safety before stalking to the bed.

Bucky smirked at him, an expression Steve was excited to wipe off of his face. Steve made it to the bed and climbed on. Legs spread across Bucky's lap, he put a hand on his shoulders and pushed. Bucky let him guide him down onto the pillows, still grinning.

Still a challenge, then. Steve bent down and attacked Bucky's neck with a flurry of tiny, nipping kisses. Bucky shivered underneath him and closed his eyes. His grin gave way to a sweet sigh. 

Bucky’s body was firm and warm between Steve's legs as he continued his attack. He trailed kisses down the exposed skin of Bucky's throat until he met resistance in the form of fabric. Steve slid a hand under the collar of the shirt and pulled it down just enough to expose a bit of collarbone. Steve ran his other hand through Bucky's hair while he sucked a small bruise on the top of Bucky's chest.

Satisfied with his work so far, Steve let go of the shirt and smiled gently at Bucky. "So far, so good?"

Bucky nodded, hands on Steve's hips and pulling him closer. "As long as you promise you're not about to leave again." The gray-green threads in his blue eyes were just visible around dark pupils.

"Not a chance." Steve was drowning on Bucky's lips. Their kiss was heated, a spark on its way to an inferno.

The last bit of fading sunlight drifted across Bucky's face, and Steve traced it with his lips. The light sparkled deep red on the tips of Bucky's hair.

"You haven't even touched my shirt yet," Bucky complained, rocking his hips underneath Steve, trying to rile him up. His hands, both of them, were all over Steve.

"Mmmhmm," Steve agreed, dipping his head down to tease at the shell of Bucky's ear. His breath hit Bucky's skin in a soft puff.

Bucky squirmed, and, when Steve did the same thing on his other ear, he whined, twisting his hips to somehow get more of their clothes bodies in contact. His cock pressed against the inside of Steve's thigh, so Steve reached down and patted him with a feather light touch. 

"Christ sakes, Steve. You trying to kill me tonight?" Bucky pressed up his hips again.

Steve nodded, wrapping himself against Bucky, teasing down his neck again. Bucky's pulse raced against his lips and Steve sucked another tiny bruise on his throat.

"Gonna need a fucking cigarette before we're done here." Bucky's grousing was breathy, almost desperate.

"Let's see how you feel by the time I get that shirt off." Steve's heart sang and his skin danced as he considered how lucky he was to be here, in Bucky's bed, after everything he'd fucked up. It solidified into resolve, and Steve attacked Bucky with kisses again.

"You've got to at least touch it to get it off," Bucky said in exasperation.

Steve lit up as he purposely misunderstood Bucky. He patted Bucky's cock through the fabric of his jeans with the most innocent smile he could manage. "Thanks for the advice, Buck."

He kept his petting gentle at first, pressing harder and teasing the everlasting fuck out of Bucky. Just as Bucky rocked hard into the touch, Steve stopped and curled fingers under Bucky's shirt.

"Goddamn finally!" Bucky said.

Steve pulled up the hem a couple of centimeters and traced the tiny line of exposed skin with a guitar-calloused fingertip. Goosebumps rose on Bucky's skin, and Steve swore Bucky’s shiver continued to his own back. He raised Bucky’s shirt another inch, teased at the skin with his tongue piercing.

Bucky arched up with a whine. “Steve!”

Sliding his fingers up Bucky’s back, Steve smiled. “Yeah?”

“Take off my fucking shirt already, will ya?”

Steve’s hands under Bucky’s shirt were on his shoulder blades. He rubbed circles on Bucky’s back in a tiny massage. Bucky groaned, and Steve came up to kiss him again. His lips were so sweet, and Steve sucked on his lower lip before sliding his hands back down to Bucky’s waist and lift his shirt up, bunching it at his chest.

Bucky twisted under him, trying to bring the shirt up higher. The lean muscle of his stomach tensed as he moved, and Steve enjoyed the show. He bent down to tease at Bucky’s piercing again, flicking it up and pressing kisses up his stomach to his chest. The shirt was high enough that Bucky’s nipples were just visible, and Steve nosed the fabric out of the way. He nipped gently at the pink buds and, when Bucky relaxed into the touch, bit softly. 

“Ohhhh,” Bucky gasped. 

Steve did it again, savoring the salt of Bucky’s skin on his lips. He reached down to tease Bucky, palming the rough outline of Bucky’s dick. The dark denim did nothing to hide how excited he was.

“Fuck the shirt, just fuck me!” Bucky demanded, grabbing Steve’s other hand and guiding it to his zipper.

Steve flicked the zipper down. “Yup. Sounds like true love to me.” Then he reached up and tugged Bucky’s shirt off the rest of the way. He rolled off of Bucky, and tugged him up into his lap. They made out on the bed, and Steve put his hands around Bucky’s waist. “You’re fucking amazing, you know that?”

 

 

Bucky grinned, and, for the first time since their night in New York, put his prosthetic hand on Steve’s shoulder. “I know. Now let’s get you out of your shirt.”

The air seemed to spark around them as Bucky leaned in to nip at Steve’s neck, his tongue warm on Steve’s heartbeat. Steve grabbed his shirt, almost ripping the white fabric as he pulled it up and over his head. 

“Oh, sure, don’t give me a chance to get back at you,” Bucky groused with a feral grin. “But don’t worry, Steve. I’ll find another opportunity.”

Steve shuddered, anticipation tingling in his chest. “Can’t wait.” 

He cupped Bucky’s face with his hands and kissed him again, and again, and again, a sudden desperation rising. Breathing through his nose, Steve assaulted Bucky’s mouth, their tongues tangling together in a wet kiss that went on even as Steve fumbled with Bucky’s waistband and tried to push his pants down.

Bucky wiggled his hips on Steve’s lap, but there was no way his pants were coming off with them together. Steve didn’t want to take his mouth off of Bucky, so he tangled his hands back in Bucky’s hair while they kissed, the temperature between their bodies rising higher. Bucky’s skin was wet and slippery against Steve’s chest, and he moaned into Bucky’s mouth.

“Missed this, missed  _ you _ so much,” Steve murmured, trying to pull Bucky closer. 

The way Bucky moved on his lap very much reverberated on Steve’s cock and he closed his eyes. Bucky’s tongue was on his, Bucky’s hands were on his skin, Bucky’s smell filled his nose. Steve rocked his hips up, wanting more.

“Works better if we take our pants off,” Bucky teased, but he didn’t stop kissing Steve either.

Somehow, Steve managed to roll Bucky back to lying down on the bed. He shed his pants and nudged clothed Bucky’s legs apart with his knee and rutted against him. The rough fabric pressing against his dick was amazing. Or maybe it was just Bucky. Maybe Bucky was amazing.

Bucky writhed underneath him, looking up at Steve with dark, dark eyes. He was a goddamned vision with his hair spread on the pillow and his skin flushed and shiny. 

“Right, pants.” Steve hooked his fingers under Bucky’s waistband and finally managed to shimmy them down his hips, down his thighs. 

Bucky’s cock was so hard, standing straight up and deep, dark pink. Steve wrapped his hand around it, marveling at the softness of the skin, the firmness of the shaft underneath. He could stroke Bucky’s cock for hours just to enjoy that sensation, so different from jacking himself off.

Twisting his hips, Bucky rocked into Steve’s grip, breathing faster. “Please, Steve. Lube in the drawer.”

Steve reached over with his other hand, doing his best to reach the nightstand without letting go of Bucky. He pulled out lube and a condom and tossed them on the bedding. Then he knelt down between Bucky’s legs.

A hand on Bucky’s hips, Steve licked at the inside of his thighs, making his way to Bucky’s hole. He dragged his tongue across the very sensitive skin, and Bucky groaned, grabbing Steve’s shoulders with both hands.

Steve firmed his tongue into a point, probing gently. Bucky’s breath came out as a long whine, and Steve licked at the warm skin until everything was spit-shiny and Bucky was writhing in pleasure. He sat back on his heels, satisfied, and grabbed the lube. 

Fingers thoroughly covered, he pressed the first one in Bucky’s hole and smiled up at Bucky, who had his eyes closed and was slowly jerking himself off. He looked so goddamned beautiful that Steve forgot to move for a moment.

Bucky opened his eyes and bucked his hips against Steve’s finger. “Steve!” 

Steve smiled his apology and got back to business, savoring the warmth of Bucky’s ass on his fingers as he slowly worked him open. Something he’d done time and time again, but this time as he rolled on the condom and slid between Bucky’s legs again, it was even better.

Bucky met his eyes with an impatient huff as Steve slung Bucky’s legs up on his shoulders and pressed the tip of his cock against his hole. 

“Love you,” he grinned as he pushed inside.

Bucky tilted his head back into the pillow and breathed out against Steve’s very welcome intrusion. Steve pressed in inch by inch, savoring the amazing heat and tightness that came with every movement.

They came together completely with Steve sheathed to the hilt on Bucky, and Bucky looking up at Steve like it was their first time. “Feels good,” he breathed out. “Ready when you are.”

Despite the heat in his groin, the desire to fuck Bucky until they were soaking with sweat, Steve went slow. Bucky wrapped a hand around his cock again and teased himself, going just as slow as Steve was. 

Steve’s heartbeat raced through his body at the sight; his cock twitched inside Bucky, and Bucky gasped. The moment crystalized around them and then Steve kept moving. He angled against Bucky’s prostate, grinning when Bucky stopped jerking himself off, frozen in a moment of pleasure. 

He sped up again, the heat building again, roaring up to that promised inferno, and Steve only just managed to catch himself and pause before his body took over. He panted, hands planted on either side of Bucky’s hips to rest a moment before he grabbed Bucky’s hips and started fucking into him slowly, enjoying the deep heat of exertion that spread into his muscles.

“Just like that,” Bucky confirmed, breathless. He’d closed his eyes again, wrapping his legs around Steve’s back and drawing him in as close as he could. 

“You want me to touch you?” Steve offered.

Bucky hooked his feet together behind Steve, pulling him in even closer. “Keep doing exactly what you’re doing.”

Steve rocked his hips back and forth into the velvety heat, his breathing fast and heavy. Bucky was a god in front of him, touching himself with deft fingers and his hips twisting up as he brought himself closer and closer to orgasm. With a soft, almost silent cry, Bucky came, cum pulsing from his cock in a perfect arc to land on his stomach. 

“Ohhhh,” Bucky breathed out.

Steve wanted to stay in that moment forever. He closed his eyes, losing himself in the way Bucky’s muscles pulsed down on his cock over and over, practically wringing out his orgasm. He couldn’t have cried out if he wanted to when he came. His muscles tensed, his vision went white, and Bucky wrapped around him was all he could think of as he rode the high of his orgasm. 

Bucky was smiling at him when he opened his eyes. 

“Wow, yeah.” Steve blinked a few times. 

The room came back into his awareness just as Bucky sat up to pull him close so they could share a sweet kiss. 

“Love you too,” Bucky whispered. Then he looked around the room. “So what happens next?”

“I think you ask me to stay,” Steve said, a twinkle in his eye. 

“Oh my god, are we going to be roommates?” Bucky joked. 

Steve sat back and grinned. “I meant overnight, but that’s good too. I’d love to move in. Thanks!”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Yeah, ok. If only because then I can force you to talk to me instead of running away.”

The bed was a mess of sweat and cum and lube, but Steve didn’t care as he sat there tangled together with Bucky. Tomorrow, they’d work on their love ballad. Friday, they’d share it with the band. And while Steve couldn’t predict the future, he knew that with Bucky, there’d be plenty of sex,

maybe some drugs,

and, always, rock and roll. 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/Mystrana_) to yell about all things Stucky! And babies. Whatever. XD
> 
> Also check out [Fadefilter](https://twitter.com/fadefilter) on twitter to see all of her awesome work! Her pieces for this bang are [here!!](https://fadefilter.tumblr.com/post/185831368478/art-for-loves-just-a-feeling-a-collaboration)


End file.
